Sacrifice is Forever
by brownpaperbags
Summary: Set in between the 3rd and 4th seasons. Loyalties tested. A king must follow the path expected of him but a man...a man must follow his heart. But, what if he is both man and king? What then? Arthur must choose between trusting magic and saving the life of his best friend. Will loyalty win or will Arthur allow Merlin to fall, bringing Camelot with him? Please R&R!
1. In the Beginning

**PROLOGUE**

Heat. Unbearable heat relentless in its quest to scorch the flesh from Merlin's bones and boil the blood in his veins. And pain. Pain the likes of which Merlin had never felt before and hoped to never feel again. It was the type of pain that leaves men screaming, but Merlin couldn't scream. He couldn't even cry. He was just too damn tired.

He could feel the agonizing heat move up his legs, but his feet were far past feeling anything anymore. They hung beneath him, two giant lumps of dead and blackened flesh that were useless to him now. He would never run or walk again. He knew this instinctually and was surprised to discover how unattached he seemed to his lower appendages. Perhaps, if he lived through his ordeal, he would be more inclined to grieve for his lost ability to walk, but for the moment he was content with the pounding of his beating heart and the irregular, but strong gush of air he managed to take into his lungs. Besides, if Arthur were to be believed Merlin had never really learned to walk like a normal person to begin with.

Arthur. His prince and friend was out there somewhere, dead or alive he did not know. It was because of Arthur that Merlin was hanging from a tree, arms trussed high above his head. It was because of the damn prince of Camelot that Merlin found himself in the middle of the Valley of the Fallen Kings being tortured for information on where Arthur was hiding. Merlin was not angry with his friend in any way and knew that if the prince could he would have saved his servant by now. No, Merlin was not angry, he was simply pointing out an irrefutable fact. Ever since he'd become protector and unwanted advisor to the crown prince of Camelot his life had taken an unexpected turn…and not for the better.

Merlin had tried to warn him. He had tried to tell Arthur what a bad idea it was to go hunting in the Darkling woods when Morgana's goons were still lurking about, but the prince would not listen. He had merely thrown caution to the wind, as always, and went hunting anyways, making sure he insulted Merlin as much as possible on the way. And then, as always, came the running and the fighting in which Arthur always seemed to come out on top, thanks to a certain warlock. The day would be saved and the prince would make some ridiculous speech about how Merlin owed him for not allowing him to perish even though it had been Merlin who told him not venture out in the first place.

Only, this time Arthur hadn't come out on top. This time there had been no gentle teasing or arrogant smiles of victory. This time there had only been blood. Arthur's blood. More of it than Merlin ever cared to see.

Strangely, Merlin was less frustrated with the inherent stupidity of his prince than he was with his own sudden helplessness. He was Emrys, for gods sake. He was rumored to be the most powerful warlock to ever walk the earth. How was it that some conjurer of cheap tricks could detain him? How was it the foolish man who delighted in the sound of his screams could touch him at all?

Verbana. Verbana was the answer to both those questions and he could feel its power slicing through his veins like a jagged blade. It was such an innocent thing to have caused him so much grief, so much agony. He had tried to bend his magic to his will, tried to send those who had meant him harm where they could never touch him, but every time he tried his power was choked off with a rush of cold and a stab of pain in his gut.

He was entirely at their mercy and they had already proven that mercy was in short supply.


	2. Another Year Older, Another Year Wiser

**Author's Note: **_Wow! I was overwhelmed at how quickly this story received attention. Thank you to all those who followed, favorite, or reviewed. For all those new to my writing I am a glutton for reviews. They help me with motivation and many of the ideas I receive in the reviews I end up using. So, please…if you take the time to read…take the time to tell me what you think. Anyways, here is the first real chapter. Hope you enjoy!_

**Three Days Earlier…**

Merlin was dreaming the morning Arthur Pendragon sat on his face. This was not the first time the crown prince had done such a thing, nor would it be the last, but Merlin felt that since it was his birthday the least he deserved was a morning of peace. A morning uninterrupted by a certain prat or his ridiculously long list of demands and chores. A morning where he could simply sit and marvel at how much sleep he had actually managed to achieve the night before.

Arthur, it seemed, had other plans. For right as Merlin was being cheered by the people of Camelot for his rather impressive display of magic the crown prince decided to set his royal derriere upon the warlock's face.

"Rise and shine," Arthur crowed, holding Merlin down as the young man struggled beneath him. "You've got things to do."

"Arthur," Merlin choked. "Get off!"

"I can't hear you, Merlin. What did you say?"

"Get off!"

"Manners, Merlin. Manners. Say the magic word."

"Oh, I'll show you the magic word," Merlin muttered.

"What was that?"

"I said please."

"No, you didn't."

"Yes I did."

"Merlin, you wouldn't say please if your life depended on it."

"That's not true."

"Merlin, I have never heard you say please to me."

"That's because its you, sire. You're a prat."

"See," Arthur mused, tapping a thoughtful finger against his upper lip. "When you say things like that it makes me think that I need to do things like this more often. Teach you some respect."

"For you or your rear end?"

"Merlin, how is that you can make any situation more awkward than it needs to be?" Arthur asked, finally releasing the poor servant from his humiliation.

"Sire, I don't mean to be a stickler for details, but you were the one who decided sitting on me was the proper way to say good morning."

"I called your name five times, Merlin."

"You did not."

"Well, alright, I called your name once, but I'm the prince and you're the servant. I shouldn't have to say your name at all. You should just instinctually know what I need and when I need it."

"I wouldn't get your hopes up, sire."

"Don't worry," Arthur grimaced. "I gave up on you ever being a decent servant a long time ago."

"And yet you still pester me," Merlin said. "One might think you had ulterior motives."

"And what might those be?"

"Oh, I don't know," Merlin said slyly. "Maybe you actually like me."

"Doubtful," Arthur said with a small shake of his head. "I pity you, really."

"Pity me?"

"Yes, Merlin, pity you. You'd be a complete and hopeless wreck without me there to guide you."

"Sure, Arthur. Whatever you say."

"You're finally getting it," Arthur exclaimed. "It IS what I say, Merlin. Because why?"

"Because you're a clotpole."

"Try again, Merlin."

"Because you're the prince."

"Exactly! And you are?"

"The devilishly good looking and under appreciated servant."

"Merlin, that's not true. I appreciate you plenty."

Merlin raised his eyebrows at his friend and the prince actually had the gall to look offended. Gods, Arthur could really be a clueless dollophead sometimes. The young warlock shook his head and sighed then stood and began to dress. Arthur was quiet for a moment and when Merlin turned to look back at him he was surprised to see the expression on his master's face. The prince looked pensive, as if he had something on his mind that he desperately wanted to get out in the open, but wasn't sure on how to translate his thoughts into words.

"Is something wrong?" Merlin asked, running a hand through his disheveled hair in an attempt to make it lay flat.

"No," Arthur said quietly. "What would give you that idea, Merlin?"

"Perhaps I just instinctively knew you needed something, sire."

"Merlin, what have I told you about trying to be funny?"

"You've told me not to," Merlin sighed.

"Exactly," Arthur stated. "Now, get dressed and pack some warm clothes. We're going hunting."

"When?" Merlin asked absentmindedly.

"Today, Merlin. As soon as you're ready."

It took a few moments for Arthur's words to sink into Merlin's sleep deprived brain. Surely he hadn't said today…because today…today was his birthday and he had been promised the day off. He had plans…good plans, amazing plans. Today was supposed to be the first time in a long time that Merlin hadn't driven himself into the ground, hectically trying to balance Gaius's tasks, the daunting chore of keeping Arthur alive, and the prince's inane demands all at once.

"But…"

"But what, Merlin?"

"But you promised that I would have the day off."

"Why would I do that?" Arthur scoffed. "You've been at the slow gin again, haven't you?"

"No," Merlin huffed. " I haven't. Arthur, today is my—"

"Merlin, I don't care what today is. We're going hunting."

"No."

"Excuse me?"

"I said no."

"Well," Arthur said, raising his brows in disbelief. "That was rather…bold of you."

"I'm not going, Arthur."

"Yes, I believe you've already made your sentiments quite clear."

"Then we're agreed? I don't have to go?"

"Oh, you'll be going."

"But you just said—"

"I said you made you're sentiments clear. Now let me make mine equally as apparent. I will overlook you're little outburst and spare you a day in the stocks on account of you being a complete idiot. You WILL be going hunting and I would suggest packing for a few days."

"Arthur," Merlin began. "I know you have a tendency of forgetting things that aren't very important to you, but today is my—"

There were very few instances in Merlin's life that would ever equal the perfect timing of that moment. He was about to say the words birthday, but was spared the expenditure of air by his door slamming open to reveal a small cluster of knights bedecked in red holding a slightly warped sweetbread and a few small packages.

"Happy Birthday," they cried in unison.

Merlin smiled, his grin stretching across the entirety of his face. Maybe Arthur had remembered after all…maybe he wasn't a complete clot pole like Merlin had originally believed. He was about to turn and give the crown prince the credit he deserved, but the surprised and slightly shamed expression on Arthur's face made his stomach drop and his smile falter. He hadn't remembered.

Merlin had never expected much from his master. Arthur was not a sentimental man and never had been, but he'd at least managed a cordial dose of well-wishing on the warlock's previous birth days. Once or twice he'd even received a small gift from the prince and though the trinkets were often trivial and half-heartedly wrapped they were usually items that Merlin enjoyed immensely. They served as a tiny reminder that just because Arthur didn't look like he was paying attention to the likes and dislikes of his servant didn't mean that he wasn't. No, Merlin hadn't expected much, but to forget all together?

A small part of Merlin understood why Arthur might not have had his servant on his mind. The young prince had been thrust into a position of complete power rather violently and not in the best of circumstances. Uther had not been well since his run in with Morgana and had been all but useless in the few months that had passed since her attempt at taking over Camelot. Arthur had been the one making the hard decisions in his father's name all while dealing with his own emotional catapult of discovering that Morgana was his sister. It was a lot to take on all at once and though Arthur made a grand show of pretending to be unfazed by his newfound responsibilities, Merlin knew that they had taken a toll on him.

A larger part of him however was furious at his master and supposed friend. One day. One day was all he asked for…all he EVER asked for. He catered to Arthur's every whim, day or night, rain or shine, and the ONE day Merlin needed to call his own had been taken from him; forgotten by a man he'd spent almost every waking moment with for the past five years.

"Right," Arthur said as if he'd known all along. "Happy Birthday, Merlin."

"Don't say things you don't mean," Merlin muttered.

"I do mean it," Arthur said stiffly.

"You didn't even remember, Arthur."

"Sure I did."

"Gwain," Merlin called to the center knight. "Did Arthur have anything to do with this little morning surprise?"

"No," Gwain said, ignoring Arthur's glare. "We all thought the Princess had something special planned for you."

"He does," Merlin replied with a bitter smile. "We're going hunting."

"But," Percival frowned. "You hate hunting."

"Apparently not," Merlin sighed.

"Merlin," Arthur began.

"Its fine," Merlin interrupted, refusing to look at the prince. "I'll be packed and ready to leave in an hour, sire."

Arthur opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something, but either pride or embarrassment stopped him from doing so. Instead he nodded once and eased his way out of the room. Merlin watched him go for a moment, trying not to let the hurt he felt show, before turning to face the sudden entourage of knights waiting to bestow gifts and sweets upon him.

An hour later, as promised, Merlin was hitching the last of the saddlebags to the old grey mare he'd affectionately christened Adelaide. He had most of the gifts he'd received from the knights tucked away in the travel pack he had received from Elyan along with a change of clothes, warm boots, and a small dagger he kept stored away in case of emergencies. He may not be an adept warrior, but magic could throw a blade with as much strength as any man, if not more. He'd never had to use the knife and he hoped to keep it that way, but one could never be too careful. Especially if one were trying to protect a prince who seemed set upon throwing himself into any battle or skirmish he came across.

"Merlin," called a soft voice from across the courtyard.

Merlin looked up from his chore and smiled at Guinevere as she strode down the castle steps towards him. She had a small bundle in her hands and Merlin eyed it appreciatively from where he stood waiting. Gwen always gave the best gifts.

"Gwen," Merlin greeted, bending down slightly so she could wrap her arms around him.

"Happy Birthday," Gwen smiled, handing him the bundle. "I wanted to give you this before you left. I was going to give them to you tonight, but…"

"Yeah," Merlin replied quietly. "I know."

"Go on," Gwen urged. "Open it."

Merlin grinned and unwrapped the package as quickly as he could. He pulled a handful of neckerchiefs from the bundle and marveled at the feel of the fabric beneath his fingers. They were softer than the ones he had now and he imagined they would feel glorious against his neck.

"Thank you," Merlin said breathlessly. "These are perfect, Gwen."

"There is something else," Gwen said, pulling another small bundle from her pocket. "But this one isn't from me."

She placed the tiny bundle in his palm and closed his fist around it, but she didn't let go of his hand. Merlin looked at her expectantly, but she seemed to be struggling with what she wanted to say.

"I know he can be difficult," she finally said quietly. "I know he can, Merlin. And I know…I know he doesn't always treat you the way you deserve to be treated."

"Gwen—"

"No, let me finish. This gift is from him, Merlin. He asked me to keep it for him until your birthday because he knew he might forget."

"You don't have to cover for him, Gwen."

"I'm not. Truly I'm not. He cares for you, Merlin, even if he won't admit to you…or even himself."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I thought you should know. He talks about you sometimes, when we're alone. You're a mystery to him, you know. Every time he thinks he has a grip on the kind of man you are you do something that forces him to reevaluate his thoughts."

"Great," Merlin muttered. "I've always wanted to be a mystery."

"I'm not explaining this very well at all, am I?"

"Not exactly."

"Just…just don't give up on him," Gwen said softly. "Don't leave him, Merlin."

"Believe me," Merlin sighed. "I couldn't leave him if I wanted to."

"Do you?"

"Do I what?"

"Want to?"

"Sometimes."

"Merlin," Gwen began. "I—"

Whatever she was going to say was drowned out by Arthur's voice calling to him from the stables. Merlin rolled his eyes and sighed. He wanted to say so many things to Gwen in that moment, but before he could respond to her Arthur came striding out of the stable doors, white lipped with fury.

"Merlin," he shouted. "What the hell is this?"

"What is what?" Merlin asked, resigned to his fate.

"Why is my horse still in the stables?"

"I was just about to—"

"I don't want your excuses, Merlin."

"Then what do you want?" Merlin snapped, watching from the corner of his eye as Gwen winced.

Arthur went very still very suddenly and Merlin had the distinct impression of a wildcat stalking its prey. He swallowed past the lump in his throat and met Arthur's eyes, refusing to be intimidated. Arthur strode towards him, but Gwen stepped in between them and would not move.

"Stop it," she said soothingly. "He didn't mean that, Arthur. He's just tired. He had a long day yesterday."

"We all had a long day," Arthur said, but the fury had gone from his face and he merely looked weary and older than he should have.

"I'll go get your horse now, sire," Merlin said softly before turning to Gwen and holding out the palm with the small package in it. "Here, I think you dropped this, Gwen."

"Merlin," Gwen said hesitantly, looking from Merlin to Arthur in desperation. "This is yours, remember? Arthur wanted you to—"

"I don't want it," Merlin said, shaking his head.

He glanced up at Arthur to find the prince looking at him in a way Merlin had never seen from him before. There was hurt in his features, a vulnerability he rarely showed, and an almost imperceptible shadow of shame in his eyes. It was there for a moment, but as soon as Arthur caught Merlin looking at him his face hardened and his eyes narrowed.

"Go get my horse," he ordered gruffly. "We'll need to be near the Valley of the Fallen Kings tonight."

"Sire," Merlin said in surprise, refusing to acknowledge the brief power play that had occurred between them. "Do you really think that wise?"

"You're really pushing your luck today, Merlin," Arthur growled.

"Arthur," Gwen said slowly. "He has a point. Morgana is still out there and the woods are crawling with her men. Surely you can find somewhere closer to the castle to hunt."

"The game isn't as good near the castle walls," Arthur argued. "I need a hunt, Guinevere. A real hunt. Besides, nobody has seen Morgana since the battle. For all we know she's dead."

"She isn't dead," Merlin said.

"And how do you know this?" Arthur asked disdainfully.

"I just…I just do," Merlin replied lamely.

"Right," Arthur snorted. "You changed my mind, Merlin. We'll go hunting elsewhere because you just somehow happen to know that Morgana isn't dead."

You weren't there, Merlin thought. You didn't see her, Arthur Pendragon. You didn't watch the way she nearly tore the castle apart in her grief, you didn't hear her screams of rage echo in your ears, you didn't hear her promise of vengeance. If only I could tell you, if only you would just believe me.

"Please," Merlin pleaded. "Anywhere else, Arthur. We can hunt anywhere else and I won't say a word. Just…please not the Valley of the Fallen Kings."

"Don't be such a girl," Arthur snapped. "We'll be fine, Merlin. You'll see…nothing will happen."

Famous last words, Merlin thought. Tempt fate in such a brazen manner and she'll always answer. Always.


	3. A Song of Ice and Fire

**Author's Note: **_Thank you for all the reviews. I loved them and would love more! Anyways, I have this thing about ending chapters in dreams…I don't know why…I just realized that as I wrote this chapter. Well, I hope you all enjoy this one! Hobey Ho, let's go!_

"How long are you going to keep this up?" Arthur asked as his horse slowly maneuvered its way down a shallow ravine.

"Keep what up?" Merlin grunted.

"Your ridiculous sulking."

"I'm not sulking."

"Yes you are."

"I think you'll find you're mistaken, Arthur."

"Merlin, I can count the number of words you've spoken to me since we left the castle on one hand."

"Congratulations, sire. You can count."

Arthur looked back to stare at his servant incredulously and smiled his signature lopsided grin. It was supposed to be charming, Merlin supposed. The trademark smile had certainly infatuated many a barmaid and far away princesses, but Merlin was neither of those. The warlock simply met his master's eyes calmly and refused to smile back.

"Merlin," Arthur sighed, turning back to watch their path. "Would it help end your sullen silences if I said I was sorry? Believe it or not, I actually kind of miss your mindless prattle."

"Why say you're sorry if you don't mean it, Arthur?"

"I do mean it," Arthur said quietly. "I've had a lot on my mind, Merlin. Surely you can understand that."

"You aren't the only one who has been affected by this recent string of events," Merlin pointed out.

"No," Arthur allowed. "But…but I'm the only one who has the entire province in his hands, Merlin. What if I ruin everything my father worked to build?"

"Would that be so bad?" Merlin asked softly.

"Merlin," Arthur warned. "Watch what you say."

"I just mean that maybe its time you stopped looking at your reign as a way to continue your father's legacy. Maybe its time you started thinking of creating your own."

Arthur glanced back at him again, but this time there was no grin. This time his face was an unreadable mask, but Merlin got the distinct impression the prince was trying to puzzle him out. Merlin hated it when he did that, hated feeling like he had some secret knowledge he was forced to hide.

The irony of such a feeling was not lost on him. He did have a secret to hide, a big one, and there were moments that Merlin felt a despair so great he would have drowned in it had it been a tangible thing. His future, his destiny, his whole life lay firmly in the hands of the prat riding ahead of him and Merlin often wondered if they would ever reach the goal he so desperately hoped for.

"Sometimes you surprise me, Merlin."

"I surprise a great deal of people, sire."

"Why is that, do you think?"

"I don't know. Maybe people are just blind to the truth."

"Or maybe you don't want them to see."

"What would I have to hide?"

"I'm not sure," Arthur said thoughtfully. "I haven't figured that out yet. To be honest, with all the years that I've known you you're still a mystery to me."

"Well," Merlin said with a bitter smile. "At least I've done something right."

"Would you tell me?"

"What?"

"If you were hiding something…would you tell me?"

Merlin stared at the back of his prince's head in vague alarm and a barely contained excitement. Could this be the moment? All he had to do was open his mouth and say the words. He could imagine the weight that would slip from his shoulders as he told his friend what he was and about the powers that had kept them alive for all these years. All he had to do was…all he had to do was trust in Arthur.

Perhaps if he had not seen the horrors and the pain that awaited him if he were ever found out, if he had not witnessed dozens of wrongful deaths at the hand of Uther Pendragon, Merlin would have been quicker to trust. As it was, the young warlock had seen too many good people die for nothing more than being what they were to simply follow his every whim, to allow himself to take the leap of faith that would be required of him.

"Maybe," Merlin whispered, ashamed at his dishonesty.

"You either would or you wouldn't, Merlin."

"Then no," Merlin said, wishing he could see Arthur's face at that moment.

"I see," Arthur said after a moment. "I understand, Merlin. I am the prince of Camelot, after all. It's not like we could be friends or anything."

"Arthur, it's not that I wouldn't want to tell you. Its just…I wouldn't want you to think any less of me."

"Believe me," Arthur snorted. "There isn't anything you could do to make me think any less of you. You're already down as far as you can go, anyways."

"You say that now," Merlin murmured.

"Do you know what I find interesting?" Arthur asked.

"No, but I'm sure you're going to tell me."

"I find it interesting that you continually ask for me to trust you," the prince continued as if he hadn't heard his servant. "You always seem to be right in the middle of things without ever actually DOING anything and then you ask for me to trust you about trolls or goblins or some other nonsense, but what about you?"

"I don't understand what you're trying to ask me, sire."

"Why is it that you expect me to put my faith in you, but you never put any faith in me?"

"That's not true," Merlin replied. "I put my life in your hands almost everyday. If that's not faith then I don't know what is."

"You've been my servant for almost five years, Merlin."

"Yes?"

"You'd think, in that amount of time, I would know everything there is to know about you. I see you everyday, I speak with you more than I do anyone else, but I still know next to nothing about you."

"There isn't really that much to know, sire."

"Don't give me that," Arthur scoffed. "I've never met anyone like you, Merlin. You're a complete idiot most of the time, but sometimes you have these brief moments of clarity and wisdom that astound me. You're a coward one moment and the next moment you are standing beside me in a battle that is all but hopeless. I don't get you at all."

"I can't figure out if you're insulting or complimenting me, sire."

"Neither," Arthur replied. "Just…just wondering which one is the real you. The coward or the hero? The wise man or the idiot?"

"Can't I be both?"

"No," Arthur said quietly, turning to look at him. "I really don't think you can."

Merlin wasn't sure what to say to that and he looked away from Arthur's penetrating and curious gaze before their conversation took them places neither of them were ready to go. There were moments, such as this, that Merlin saw the king Arthur could be if he chose to. He saw a man people would follow without doubt, without regret; a man who could create an era of peace and acceptance…if only he tried.

"How much farther?" Merlin asked, changing the subject.

"We should reach the edges of the valley by nightfall," Arthur answered, looking at the sky to follow the sun's trek to the west. "A few more hours, maybe."

"Arthur," Merlin said hesitantly. "I know I've already told you this, but I don't think this is a good idea. It isn't too late to turn back and hunt elsewhere."

"Merlin," Arthur said. "Why are so afraid of that place?"

"I'm not afraid of the place," Merlin muttered. "I'm afraid of what happens to people who go there."

"What are you talking about?"

"Arthur, the last time we were there you were nearly killed."

"So one bad experience is enough to sully it forever?"

"No," Merlin replied. "It's a bad place, Arthur. There's evil there."

"That's a bit dramatic, don't you think?"

"No, Arthur. I don't think it's dramatic at all. The whole place gives me a bad feeling."

"Well," Arthur said sarcastically. "By all means then. Lets turn around because you have bad feelings."

"You don't understand," Merlin mumbled. "You've never understood."

"Understood what?"

"Never mind."

"I'm asking you a question, Merlin."

"And I'm refusing to answer, Arthur."

"You seem to think you can speak to me any way you please," Arthur said, not angry yet, but on the edge of a full on princely temper tantrum.

"And you seem to think I can't," Merlin replied stonily, urging his horse past Arthur's so that he wouldn't have to see the man's furious stare.

Merlin wondered if he were still dreaming. His whole day had been surreal from the start and seemed to only be getting stranger as the sun set lower and lower in the sky. In a way it was fitting, he supposed. A strange birthday for a strange man. Still, he wasn't sure what to think about the feud between himself and Arthur and was even more confused on the sudden interest Arthur had showed in him.

The young warlock depended on his master's general lack of interest in him to stay hidden. If Arthur were to suddenly start questioning his servant's day-to-day actions and his reasons for doing them it might get trickier to explain. There were moments that Merlin yearned for Arthur to give him recognition for something other than being his servant, but not when it put his secret at risk. Not when it could ruin everything he'd worked so hard to achieve.

And yet, he couldn't help but wonder how much easier his job would be if Arthur knew. He wouldn't have to edge around why he felt a particular way about a particular subject or why he saw bad omens and spirits when Arthur's mortal eyes saw nothing. At first, it had been easy keeping his secret from the prince. He knew that regardless of what he'd had or hadn't done for the future king he would be seen as an abomination and his life forfeit simply because he existed. As the years began to creep by, however, it became increasingly difficult to lie to the older man and the lines between Arthur's duty and his heart began to blur. The resulting guilt was something that kept Merlin up at night, tossing and turning over the conundrum they faced. How to tell the man he'd been serving faithfully and loyally for five years that he'd been lying to him from the beginning?

"Arthur," Merlin said after almost an hour's silence between the two men. "Can I ask you something?"

"Haven't you overstepped your boundaries enough for one day?"

"You asked me why I was so dead set against the Valley of the Fallen Kings," Merlin said, ignoring his friend's exasperated eye roll. "But, why are you so dead set on going?"

"You never answered my question. Why should I answer yours?"

"I answered. You just didn't like what I had to say."

"'I have feelings' doesn't count as an answer, Merlin."

"You're stalling."

"Shut up, Merlin."

"Why do you want to go there so badly?"

"I said quiet, Merlin."

"Arthur, I'm not going to—"

"Merlin," Arthur yelled, loud enough to send birds scattering for quieter places to roost. "Why can't you ever do as you're told? Why do you have to push me? Why can't you be the one person I can rely on to not question every thing I do? To not make me feel like a failure?"

Arthur shut his mouth with an audible click, as if there had been a lever pulled and he'd lost his ability to speak. It was clear to Merlin that his friend had never intended to say the things he had, never intended to bear so much of himself. Even now, his cheeks began to color with shame and embarrassment and he refused to look his servant in the eye.

"I don't think you're a failure," Merlin whispered. "And I'm sure no one else does either."

"I don't know how he does it," Arthur said softly, refusing to look at him. "My father, I mean. I don't know how he gets up every morning and handles everything so calmly. Knights who need training, court members that have to pampered and flattered, taxes to levy, laws to uphold, foreign dignitaries to please, people that need protecting. I've been training for this my whole life, but I still feel like every move I make is the wrong one."

"And he just sits there," Arthur continued. "He just sits there and feels sorry for himself when I need his help. For the first time in my life I truly need my father's help and he's not there to give it to me. Can't he see that Morgana's betrayal hurt me as well? Can't he see that I'm floundering on my own? I don't know how to run a kingdom, Merlin. I've trained and prepared for this moment, but now that its here I have no idea what I'm doing."

"You underestimate yourself," Merlin told him. "You always have when it comes to your abilities to lead. You're a right arrogant ass for everything else, but this…"

"Am I doing right by my people, Merlin?"

"Arthur," Merlin sighed. "I've told you before what I see in you. I don't know what the future holds or the path our lives will lead us down, but I know that there is nobody I would rather take it with. I may not be your friend, Arthur Pendragon, but you are mine and that's all that matters to me."

Arthur opened his mouth to speak, but almost immediately closed it again. That suited Merlin just fine. It was easy for him to give Arthur little morale boosts here and there when the prince was too prideful to respond to them. He wasn't sure what he would do if his friend actually decided to reply.

"Its getting dark," Merlin said absently. "Perhaps we should rest here for the night?"

"Sure," Arthur said, voice hoarse. "Here is fine."

"Excellent," Merlin said, climbing down from his horse and surveying the small clearing they would be making camp in. "My ass hurts from riding this long."

"Don't be such a girl," Arthur drawled. "We've still got a ways to go before we reach the Valley, but if we are up by first light we should be there by midday. Now, lets get started. I'm hungry."

Camp was easy enough to set up. Merlin had done it so many times by now that he almost didn't have to think about what he was doing. Surprisingly, Arthur assisted him that night and between the two of them managed to get settled down just as the last vestiges of light disappeared behind the mountains in the west. They had a simple dinner of stew and bread that had gone slightly stale, but tasted well enough if dipped in the stew. Arthur had even brought a small flagon of spiced wine and the two shared a drink over the roaring fire.

Neither man mentioned the conversation they'd had only hours ago and neither man mentioned the horrible way their day had began. They simply chatted and teased like they always had and before long their eyes grew heavy and their yawns came with a greater frequency than before. Before the sun had even fully risen to her perch in the dark night both men were sound asleep.

Merlin dreamed again that night. He was being cheered by the masses of Camelot for his great deeds and heroic use of magic. High above them on a parapet made of marble and gold he waved down at them, his smile stretching across his face. It wasn't until he smelled the first tendrils of smoke that Merlin glanced behind him. What he saw filled him with a greater horror than he'd ever felt before and he stepped backwards almost toppling over the edge and to his death among the thronging crowd below. Merlin had believed he was on a parapet, but he was actually tied to a pyre, small flames quickly growing into a raging inferno. He screamed when the first fiery tendrils touched him and called Arthur's name. At first, he received no answer but then his friend was there beside him, untouched by flames or smoke. Merlin expected freedom, expected liberation, but as the fire grew steadily higher and Merlin's screams steadily louder Arthur did nothing. His friend watched him turn to ashes with the calm, cold eyes of his father.


	4. Hit Me With Your Best Shot

**Author's Note: **_Hello, everyone! I really hope you like this chapter because this is where the action starts. PLEASE REVIEW!_

Arthur's eyes snapped open, searching the darkness for whatever had woken him. He kept his breathing calm and even, but put his hand out to rest against the pummel of his sword, never taking his eyes off the tree line. His muscles tensed and bunched beneath his skin, readying him for battle, readying him to face the culprit lurking in the darkness.

Merlin snored loudly beside him and Arthur frowned. Although he was relieved to discover that his servant was the cause of his sudden consciousness he was not pleased that he'd been woken needlessly. He briefly toyed with the idea of throwing the night-chilled water they'd used for dinner over the servant's face, but quickly dismissed it. The young man could make the remainder of their trip extremely painful, as he'd proved that morning, and Arthur felt he'd already used the numerous free passes Merlin allowed him.

He wasn't sure why he cared. Merlin was his servant and could never be anything more, no matter how much he wished he could. Arthur found that if he remained aloof, remained oblivious to the comings and goings of Merlin's life, the lines between friend and servant did not seem to blur as much. It was safer that way…for both of them. Uther was not a cruel man, but he had very strict ideas of how a future king of Camelot should behave himself, certain expectations for those Arthur chose to befriend. If the king suspected that the prince's involvement with Merlin extended beyond being his servant, Arthur could not guarantee the boy's job within the royal household, could not guarantee that Merlin would remain by his side. For reasons unknown to him the idea of Merlin being anywhere else but Arthur's life filled him with dread. The thought of not being able to protect the servant if he found trouble terrified him and knowing Merlin he would undoubtedly find it…easily.

Merlin snored again and Arthur sighed. He doubted he would get back to sleep that night and if the position of the moon in the sky was anything to go by dawn was not far off. The prince wrapped his heavy coat around his shoulders to warn against the morning chill and put a bundle of firewood on the embers of their previous fire. They caught, faster than Arthur had expected, and before long he had a raging inferno crackling within the ring of rocks. The heat was uncomfortable against his face and neck, but he found the tiny embers and motes of flame escaping from the fire almost mesmerizing and did not move.

He loved moments like this. He loved the serenity of the forest, the silence it offered him. Merlin had never understood what the hunt truly meant to him and Arthur had never bothered to explain. He felt that doing so would ruin the peace he so craved, the illusion of solidarity he needed to stay sane. The hunt was his time to think and to sift through the thousand or so stresses he faced everyday. Even when he'd been nothing more than the heir of Camelot there had been moments he wanted to scream in frustration, but he never could because that was not the behavior of a prince.

Now that he was basically ruling Camelot by himself the need to get away and think had almost driven him mad. He felt bad for taking Merlin away on the one day that truly belonged to him, but the servant had been Arthur's sounding board for so long it would not have felt right without him. Arthur wouldn't have felt right without him. He wanted to tell Merlin everything that was going on his life, wanted to explain the sheer terror he experienced everyday when members of the court looked to him for guidance, for answers where none existed. And yet, the prince couldn't bare it if his servant thought him weak or childish so he remained silent.

His problems in court were not the only thing Arthur needed to work through. Merlin had asked him why he was so set on the Valley of the Fallen Kings, but Arthur had not answered. He was too afraid to tell the servant that the reason he was so desperate to trek those haunted lands was the very reason Merlin was so desperate not to. Morgana and her men.

The memory of his sister's betrayal was like a wound in the roof of his mouth that would heal if only he could stop tonguing it. But, he couldn't stop. Couldn't let it go. He couldn't let go of the hope that Morgana had been changed by magic and that the real Morgana, the woman he'd come to love and cherish, was still there, hidden but not gone. If only he could talk to her, he was sure that he could right the wrongs between his sister and his father and bring their untraditional, but happy family back together. There was no reason for things to end the way they had, no reason for their grief to continue when the rift between them could be so easily mended.

Part of him realized the foolishness of his thoughts. He had seen the way Morgana had torn their father down to nothing, seen the way she had so casually thrown her friends to the wolves. Magic could not change the hatred in her eyes or the disdain in her voice. Magic could not change the anger in her soul or the grief in her tears, no matter how much Arthur wished it could. No matter how much Arthur wished he could bring her back to them, he knew that his sister was gone, another soul lost to magic. He knew this, but still dared to hope.

A fool's hope, but perhaps Arthur had always been a fool when it came to the ones he loved. He had overlooked warning signs before and would not be the least surprised if he did it again. It was his weakness, he supposed. It could prove to be the end of him one day, but his recognition of his fault did nothing to change it. He doubted anything ever could.

He blinked and was surprised to find his cheeks were wet with tears. He wiped them away with his fist and stared angrily into the fire. If Merlin had seen him cry Arthur didn't know what he would have done. It was embarrassing enough that the man had seen him in some compromising situations over the years, but to see him crying like an infant child? No, that would not do at all.

Merlin suddenly kicked him and for one horrifying second Arthur thought the servant had seen his prince's weakness after all. He turned to snarl something at the young man, but stopped when he noticed that Merlin was still asleep. There was a fine sheen of sweat across the servant's brow and the man's face was crinkled in discomfort. He kicked out again, mumbling something beneath his breath, and Arthur realized his servant was trapped in a nightmare.

He raised his eyebrows, unsure of what to think. What could the young man possibly be dreaming about that would upset him so? Merlin hadn't lived a charmed life, but he hadn't lived one of hardship either. At least, not that Arthur knew. He frowned again, realizing that there was a great deal of Merlin's life Arthur knew nothing about. Perhaps he could have faced horrors, could have faced darkness in his world.

Merlin groaned and Arthur debated on whether to save him from his nightmare or wait for it to tire of his servant and leave him in peaceful sleep. In the end, he wouldn't get to choose because suddenly there was a loud crash in forest, unlike anything Arthur had ever heard before. He watched as Merlin was ripped from sleep by the noise and quickly shot his hand out to cover the man's mouth before he could make a sound.

Merlin fought against him and Arthur was slightly shocked at the strength the young man possessed. He always seemed so weak and scrawny, but it was clear that the prince had underestimated him. Arthur thumped him hard and Merlin finally settled and looked up at him in surprise.

"Quiet," Arthur whispered in his ear. "Something's moving out there."

Merlin looked over his hand to the tree line and Arthur felt him tense. The fire was still crackling loudly, but Arthur couldn't hear it. His entire mind was focused on the tree line, on the noise that had echoed off the forest floor. He waited for a long moment, but when nothing else happened he released his hold on Merlin. The young man slumped to the ground, breathing heavily from the combined effects of his nightmare and Arthur's hand covering his mouth.

"What was that all about?" Merlin coughed, staring up at his prince blearily.

"I heard something," Arthur told him, still keeping a close eye on the stand of trees directly in front of him. "Must have been an animal. Go back to sleep."

"I've never known you to get spooked by an animal noise," Merlin pointed out, watching Arthur carefully.

"I wasn't spooked, Merlin."

"Are you sure? Because I seem to remember a certain prattish prince holding onto my head for dear life."

"I was making sure you didn't scare it away with your girlish screams."

"I wasn't screaming."

"But you were going to."

"How could you possibly know that, Arthur?"

"You opened your mouth."

"Arthur, you couldn't see my mouth. Your hand was covering it."

"Shut up, Merlin."

"It's alright, sire. I won't tell anyone you got scared."

"I wasn't scared," Arthur growled, gritting his teeth.

"Right," Merlin said, winking cheekily.

Arthur was about to open his mouth, about to say something so disdainful Merlin would be smarting for weeks, but before he could an arrow whizzed past his ear and landed in the dirt behind him with a hollow sounding thump. At first, he was in as much shock as his servant, staring at the arrow with disbelief, but as a second arrow narrowly missed his servant's throat by a fingerbreadth Arthur's warrior instincts kicked in.

He threw himself to the ground, bringing Merlin down with him. He tried to be as flat as possible, narrowing his opponent's target area, and almost shouted in annoyance when he had to push his servants head down.

"I told you," Merlin whispered loudly. "I told you this was a bad idea, Arthur!"

"Merlin," Arthur snapped. "Why can't you hold your tongue for once in your life?"

"I just thought I should get in at least one 'I told you so' before we die, sire."

"We aren't going to die, Merlin."

"Says you, but I think the man shooting arrows has different plans."

"Can you see him?" Arthur asked, trying to raise his head just high enough to see into the trees.

"No. Can you?"

"Would I be asking you if I could see him, Merlin?"

"Testy, testy," Merlin breathed. "You'd think you'd be a bit nicer to live bait, but I suppose that would be too much to ask."

"Live bait?" Arthur asked, turning to look at him. "What the hell do you mean by live bait, Merlin?"

"Don't miss," Merlin told him with a raucous grin. "Or I swear I will haunt you in the afterlife."

"Merlin," Arthur warned, foreboding sliding in his stomach. "Don't—"

Before Arthur could finish his warning the young man had jumped to his feet and sprinted towards the trees. He weaved right and left, making himself a more difficult target, but eventually an arrow would find him and when it did there would be little Arthur could do to save him. He had to move fast.

With the archer's attention on Merlin, Arthur was able to climb to his feet and slip through the trees unnoticed. He could hear the twang of the crossbow somewhere to his right and he crossed through the forest silently, attempting to flank the man who dared harm Camelot's future king and his servant. His sword was held high in his hands when he finally saw the man responsible, but he stopped in horrified recognition. He had seen this man before. He'd been a fisherman who often sold his wares in the market stalls of Camelot. Why would he be here? Why would he be trying to kill him?

"Stop," Arthur commanded, putting his blade against the man's throat. "Do you know who it is you are attacking, old man?"

"Aye," the fisherman said gravely. "I know who you are, Prince Arthur."

"Why?" Arthur asked, appalled. "I know you. You've been in Camelot thousands of times. Why would you do something like this?"

The man turned to face him, meeting his gaze defiantly. The blade of his sword nicked the man's throat and blood dribbled across the outer edge of the blade, staining the metal red. The old man's eyes were sorrowed, heavy with despair and rage. Arthur was chilled by the sight of them.

"You ask me why I seek your blood?" the man said. "You ask me why I would wish to harm the heir to Camelot's throne? I wish to avenge the lives you have ended, Arthur Pendragon. The innocence you have destroyed with your misguided hatred of forces you cannot understand."

"What? I don't—"

"You have blood on your hands," the man shouted. "Blood that can never be washed away. I had hoped you would be different from your father, but Morgana—"

"Morgana," Arthur hissed. "Morgana put you up to this? How could my sister even know we were here?"

Before the old man could answer, Merlin crashed through the trees, gasping for air and looking wildly behind him. He quickly registered the old man, but he gave no indication of recognizing him. Of course, that didn't mean he hadn't. Merlin had a habit of being elusive in that way, seemingly oblivious to his surroundings one moment and then recalling the same situation in perfect detail the next.

"Arthur," he gasped. "Arthur, there are more. Coming…I tried to…tried to lead them off, but—"

"Right," Arthur said, using the hilt of his sword to knock the fisherman unconscious. He took the crossbow from the fisherman's hands and threw it at the servant. "Time to go, Merlin."

"What am I supposed to do with this?" Merlin asked, staring at the weapon in his arms like he'd never seen one before.

"Honestly, Merlin. Just point and shoot."

Merlin frowned and pointed the weapon inwards, towards his chest. Arthur knew time was short, he knew that they could die at any moment, knew that running would be wise, but he had to take a moment and marvel at the boy's stupidity. How he'd managed to survive as long as he had was a mystery to him.

"Idiot," Arthur growled, pulling the bow from his arms and turning it so it pointed outwards. "It goes like this, Merlin. You'd think you hadn't watched me use one a thousand times."

"I knew that," Merlin said with a small grin as they began their desperate run for freedom. "I just…adrenaline, I suppose. And I wanted to test you…see if you were paying attention. After all, you've got to be on top of your game if you're going to get us both out of this alive."

"I never said anything about you getting out of this," Arthur panted, pulling his servant along behind him. "And I certainly never used the word alive."

"Your exact words were "we aren't going to—"

"Merlin, do you ever shut-up?"

"Not unless I have to, sire."

Arthur could hear the men crashing through brush after them. He could not be sure of their number, but he guessed they ranged in the low twenties and his stomach plummeted. There was no way he could fight twenty or more men at once and with Merlin being all but useless in a skirmish the prince was on his own. He hated running, hated feeling like a coward, but there was little he could do and in that moment Arthur truly despised his sister for the first time.

He looked behind him to make sure Merlin hadn't fallen over in his attempt to walk straight, but was horrified to find his servant no where to be found. Arthur stopped, frantically searching the forest floor for signs of where his friend might have fallen, but no servant rose ungracefully to meet him, no cry for help reached his ears.

The men were getting closer now and he could hear the braying of hounds in the distance. He grit his teeth and sprinted along the path, angry that he could not turn back and search for the idiotic and useless man he called servant. If he had both of them would have perished for his efforts and then where would they be? At least his way he could go back with reinforcements and save Merlin's worthless hide.

A scream split the night air, a scream filled with pain and surprise. At first, Arthur thought it was Merlin, but the more he thought about it the more he realized that the shout had been more low pitched than Merlin could have ever managed. Not that he'd ever heard Merlin scream and he hoped he never would. It just seemed fitting that after all the times Arthur had told him he sounded like a girl he would scream like one to. Faulty logic, he knew, but it helped soothe the sharp ache of worry in his heart.

More shouts of surprise echoed around him and Arthur stopped to stare behind him, taking a moment to catch his breath. He could see flashes of light in the distance, obviously supernatural in origin and Arthur watched in confusion as the light illuminated the scene in front of him. Men were running, not at him, but away from him, away from the obvious path he had taken. He did not understand what would cause them to give up on such easy prey, he was one man, caught unprepared and without supplies. He had no horse, no servant, and only a few pieces of his armor. He was helpless and ripe for the taking, but they ran from him as if they'd seen a ghost.

Arthur could make out a shadowy figure in the light, a figure that seemed strangely familiar to him, but he could not place why. It took him a moment to realize that the men were running from the figure who had his hands up in a gesture of warning. He watched as one man attempted to overtake the figure and was thrown high in the air for his efforts. Arthur heard a crack and knew that the man's neck had broken or, at the very least, his spine had snapped.

Finally, his shadowy savior's hands fell to his side, as if weary from the power they'd held. Arthur debated on thanking this man or simply continuing on to find his servant. Something told him he didn't want to know the identity of the man who saved him, didn't want to know the truth of the sorcerer's power.

He sighed and was about to continue his search for his missing servant when something hard collided with his left side. Pain exploded through his body and he screamed once before collapsing to the wet ground, writhing as fire spread across his chest. He could see the shadowy figure whip his head around at the sound of his scream and Arthur found himself trying to crawl towards him, his subconscious certain the sorcerer would be the answer to his pain, an end to the agony in his chest.

But, the figure would not be his salvation. The shadow man disappeared and Arthur was alone, alone with his pain and the blood pouring from his side. He slid shaking fingers up to the wound and tried to assess the damage but the slightest touch caused him to scream in pain. There was no mortal weapon that could cause pain like this…no mortal blade that could pierce him so thoroughly. There was no arrow to pull from his side, no sword lying forgotten and bloody beside him and Arthur knew immediately that he'd been hit by powerful magic. Even now he could feel its heat spreading through his veins and he was nearly blinded by the agony that surged through him with every labored beat of his heart.

His vision was dimming and Arthur was suddenly sure he was going to die. He watched as the old fisherman stepped from the trees, a swirling ball of black magic in his palm. Blood trailed down his cheeks and forehead from where the hilt of Arthur's blade had hit him. He walked towards him cautiously, only stopping to look at him when he was at Arthur's side.

"I should let you suffer," the fisherman whispered, watching Arthur curl himself around the fire in his belly. "I should let you burn as my son burned, Arthur Pendragon. The spell that runs through your veins will do that, you know. Burn you from the inside out, boil the blood in your veins. It would be a mercy to bleed out here, a mercy for me to put an arrow in your skull. Your father showed my son no mercy. He was only a boy, but still Uther put him on the pyre and when my son's screams echoed through his sacred halls he didn't even have the courage to stay and face what he'd done. Its only right that his son should die in the same agony mine did. Its only right that he knows your death was his fault."

"Please," Arthur groaned, blood flecking his lips. "Please…"

The man stared down at him with merciless eyes, but when Arthur screamed he fell to his knees beside the prince and held his hand until the pain passed.

"I want to be merciless," the fisherman whispered, sweeping Arthur's sweat drenched hair from his forehead. "But, I cannot. Forgive me, Arthur Pendragon. Forgive me for what I must do, but the tyrannical hand of the Pendragon's can no longer grace the throne of Camelot. It is time for a new era…an era of magic and of peace. Morgana will be the herald of that era."

"You…you don't know…her like…like I do," Arthur gasped. "She…she'll betray you…in the end…" Pain gripped his heart and Arthur lost time for a moment. When he regained his bearings, his mouth tasted of coppery blood and his body was slick with sweat.

"Close your eyes," the fisherman said softly. "I will make it fast and painless."

"Morgana," Arthur slurred. "Morgana will…will never…be the queen…you want her…want her to…be. She will…fail you…in…in the end."

"That is a chance I am willing to take," the fisherman whispered, picking the crossbow up from where Arthur had dropped it. "May the gods grant you peace, Arthur Pendragon."

He calmly aimed the bow at Arthur's head and pulled the trigger.


	5. Out of the Frying Pan and Into the Fire

**Author's Note: **_Sorry for the long delay, but I am back in action now. I hope you all enjoy this chapter. It is quite long…PLEASE REVIEW!_

Arthur screamed.

The thought sent fear skittering up Merlin's spine and threatened to crush his heart with its icy fingers. He had seen his prince in plenty of life or death situations, seen him deathly ill, filled with arrows, battered and bruised, but he could not remember a time when Arthur ever made a sound. Not a whimper or a groan. He'd grit his teeth and, if he was able, keep on fighting. Arthur Pendragon didn't scream.

But, he was doing it now. His pain was almost a tangible thing and Merlin imagined Arthur's agony rippling through the night air. The sound of it would bring Merlin nightmares for years to come, but he forced himself to shake his terror away. He had a job to do. Albion would not be united without Arthur Pendragon, but more importantly Merlin would be lost without his best friend.

He was prepared to do whatever it took to end his friend's painful screams. He had already killed that night and though the thought of what he had done made him sick he would do it all over again if he had to. His magic was a beautiful, wondrous thing, but sometimes it had to be used for purposes that shamed him. Sometimes sacrifice was the only way.

Merlin sped through the trees heedless of the branches that whipped across his face and hands as he ran. He would feel the dozen or more tiny cuts and nicks in the morning, but for now his mind was on only one thing. Saving Arthur.

His eyes glowed gold for a moment as he muffled his footsteps. If he were to have any hope of saving Arthur he would need to stay hidden, need to remain unseen. Besides, Arthur was still conscious. If he saw Merlin use magic there would be no turning back, no choice but for him to come clean about everything. Merlin didn't think his prince could handle that. Not after everything. Not after the betrayal of Morgana and the deteriorating condition of his father.

Merlin ducked behind a large elm tree, peeking his head out from around it. The archer towered over Arthur who lay curled around his stomach on the cold, damp forest floor. Merlin's eyes widened in horror as he looked at his friend. He had never seen a spell that left a visible shadow on its victim. He doubted anyone without magic could see it, but it was there. It was a black, smoke-like haze that shrouded his friend's form and pulsed with every beat of Arthur's heart, tightening and releasing rhythmically.

"Close your eyes," the fisherman was saying. "I will make it fast and painless."

"Morgana," Arthur slurred, trying to raise his head to look at him. "Morgana…will never…be the queen…you want her…want her to…be. She will…fail you…in…in the end."

Merlin's eyes narrowed in rage. Morgana. He should have known she would be behind an attack like this. He felt frustration and hatred rising in him. Why couldn't Arthur listen? Why couldn't he trust him? He could feel the familiar pull of guilt beneath his anger, beneath his fury. He should have taken care of Morgana when he'd had the chance, but like a coward he'd been unable to kill her, unable to take an unsuspecting human life.

"That is a chance I am willing to take," the fisherman said softly, raising his bow to point it at Arthur's head. "May the gods grant you peace, Arthur Pendragon."

"No," Merlin screamed as the fisherman pulled the trigger. "Arthur!"

Merlin's eyes flashed golden and the bolt slammed into the frostbitten earth mere inches from Arthur's head. The fisherman whirled at the sound of his voice, raising his crossbow to point at him instead. Merlin ducked back behind the tree seconds before a second bolt bit deep into the bark where Merlin's head had been moments before. There was an empty click as the crossbow attempted to chamber another arrow and discovered there were no arrows left to shoot.

Merlin jumped out from behind the tree with a cry of rage and barreled into the fishermen, knocking both of them to the ground. The fishermen's fist slammed into the side of Merlin's skull and for a moment Merlin slumped back, dazed. He tried to put up his arm to deflect the fishermen's next blow, but the man simply clamped down on it and pulled him forward, wrapping his hands around Merlin's throat. His head was swimming as he fought to breathe and he could feel his magic boiling beneath his skin. This was it. He would use his magic to save their lives and Arthur would never speak to him again. He would never—

The fishermen's grip suddenly released and the old man grabbed his neckerchief as he collapsed forward. Merlin didn't know what was happening, but with the fishermen pulling on his neckerchief he still couldn't breathe, couldn't ignore the burning in his throat. Then he saw blood sluice down the old man's chin and Merlin was able to pull the fisherman's hands off of him, watching as he slid to the forest floor. Arthur stood behind him, Merlin's knife in his fist, looking down at the dead man in distaste. He looked up at him with pain-glazed eyes and Merlin watched his lips move, but he couldn't hear him. He was coughing too much for that.

"What?" he finally wheezed out.

"I said you dropped your knife," Arthur told him quietly before his eyes fluttered and he crashed back to the ground.

"Arthur," Merlin ground out, wincing. Every syllable was torture on his bruised throat. "Arthur, are you alright?"

"Why…do you ask stupid questions?" Arthur hissed out, curling around his belly once more.

"Because those are the only questions you can answer correctly," Merlin said weakly, falling to his knees beside his friend.

"Has anyone ever told you that you have horrible bedside manner?" Arthur rasped. "I'm dying and the only thing you can do is insult me."

"You're not dying," Merlin told him firmly.

"I think our dead friend over there would disagree, Merlin."

"You're not dying," Merlin growled.

"Fine," Arthur whispered, closing his eyes. "I'm not dying and you're not bleeding."

"What?"

"You're bleeding, Merlin."

"I thought you said I wasn't."

"Sarcasm, Merlin. Its called sarcasm. You should take care of that."

Merlin put his fingers up to his temple and stared at the blood on his fingers distastefully. Now that Arthur had pointed it out to him he could feel the warmth of his blood trickle down his jawline, trail down his throat, and pool in the pocket his neckerchief provided.

"Not until I take care of you," Merlin told him. "We need to get you out of here. Morgana's men could still be out there."

"There's no point," Arthur rasped. "I'm as good as dead, Merlin."

"No," Merlin hissed. "You're not. Not yet. Not while I have anything to say about it."

"Why are you always so optimistic? Its annoying."

"Why are you so pessimistic? It's depressing."

"I'm not a pessimist, Merlin. I'm a realist."

"That's what all pessimists say. Can you walk?"

"Why are you doing this? Why can't you just leave it alone?"

"Because nothing is final, Arthur. Not even death."

Arthur opened his eyes and looked at his servant appraisingly. Merlin met his gaze and watched as his friend's despair flickered into defiance. Arthur nodded once and held out his hand to his servant, crying out as Merlin pulled him to his feet. He bent over, clutching at his stomach and breathing heavily. Merlin wrapped his arm around Arthur's shoulders and put his other hand against his chest, bracing his friend in case he began to fall.

Merlin glanced down when he felt something hot and sticky sinking between his fingers and he had to clamp down hard on the sudden urge to throw up. Blood. Arthur's blood, hot and thick on his hand. As the young man leaned against him, Merlin could feel it sinking into his clothes and the heavy metallic odor of iron filled his nose.

"You alright there, buttercup?" Arthur asked, glancing up at Merlin and attempting a weak grin. "You look a bit queasy."

"I'm fine," Merlin told him. "Don't worry about me."

"Oh," Arthur told him softly. "I never do. I've come to terms with the fact that trouble sticks to you like flies to manure."

"Me? Trouble? Arthur, I never had a problem until I became your friend."

"So, we're friends then?"

"Who is asking stupid questions now, sire?"

"I think I like having you as a friend, Merlin."

"You're delirious, sire."

"No," Arthur told him slowly. "Not this time. I mean what I say."

"Arthur…I…"

"Yes? Don't hold back on me now, Merlin."

"I was just going to say…" Merlin swallowed hard. "You should stop talking, sire" Merlin closed his eyes at the lie. "Conserve your strength."

"That's not what you were going to say."

"You don't know that, Arthur."

"Yes, I do. I may not know much about your past, Merlin, but I know plenty about your present. I know who you are. Sappy to the end. You were going to say something sweet, something tender that would make me want to puke. You were—"

Arthur broke off with a cry of pain and Merlin barely caught him as his knees buckled. They hadn't moved more than a hundred yards from where they had began, but it was clear that his friend wouldn't be able to walk anymore. It was up to Merlin now. It was always up to Merlin.

"Breathe, Arthur," Merlin told his friend softly, lowering him to sit against a tree trunk. "Just breathe."

"Don't…don't make me…hit you," Arthur panted, reaching out to hold Merlin's arm in a death grip, fingers digging into his skin as Arthur's pain reached a crescendo.

"I'm quaking in my boots, sire."

"Merlin, I don't know if I can do this. It hurts. I feel like I'm on fi—" Whatever Arthur was going to say was lost in an agonized scream and Merlin gasped as the searing heat rolling through him in waves travelled down his prince's fingers and burned Merlin's skin through his shirt. Merlin jerked back instinctively, feeling his flesh blistering beneath Arthur's hand, but the movement brought Arthur with him. The prince collapsed on his side and lay there, shivering and twitching in harsh, jerking movements. He coughed once and Merlin swore he saw blood spatter the leaves, staining the vivid green with a red so dark it was almost black.

There had to be something Merlin could do. He couldn't watch this, couldn't watch his friend writhe in pain. He was Emrys. He was a warlock capable of great things. He was given the gift of magic for a reason and he would be damned if he allowed Arthur to suffer.

"Arthur," Merlin whispered, laying his hand on his friend. The heat of Arthur's flesh seared into his fingers and Merlin had to close his eyes against the pain of it. "Its going to be okay, Arthur."

"Like hell…it will," Arthur stammered out between chattering teeth.

"I'm going to help you," Merlin told him softly. "I always do, don't I?"

Arthur didn't say anything, but Merlin didn't know if this was because he didn't have anything to say or he simply couldn't get the words past his lips. Merlin's hands ached and burned terribly, but he didn't move them. If what he planned to do worked his hands wouldn't be the only thing that hurt him.

He closed his eyes and mouthed the words of the spell he hoped would work. For a moment nothing happened, but then—Merlin stiffened, feeling the dark magic slowly killing his friend working its way into him. He could feel it wrapping around his heart, attempting to squeeze the life and the magic out of him. Merlin ignored it and grit his teeth, imagining Arthur's pain as a thread he was slowly pulling out of his friend's body. He could feel Arthur twitching beneath his fingers, hear the harsh rasp of his breath, smell Arthur's blood, but the heat of Arthur's flesh began to cool, slowly at first but even faster as Merlin continued to mouth the spell.

"Merlin," he heard Arthur gasp. "What—what are you doing?"

Merlin heard him, but he couldn't answer. Not yet, anyway. He was too busy trying to keep the dark magic inside him from overpowering his own. He grit his teeth and his hands tightened on Arthur's shoulder until, amazingly, his magic flared brightly and vanquished the fires threatening to overwhelm him, leaving nothing more than a dull heat in Merlin's belly. He opened his eyes and his gaze immediately flickered down to Arthur. He could feel himself shivering violently in the cool night air and his hair was plastered against his forehead with sweat.

"What did you do?" Arthur asked, weak and pale but no longer twitching.

"I didn't do anything," Merlin rasped quickly. "I just put my hands on you and then—"

"It stopped," Arthur said, looking at him strangely. "The pain…it just…stopped. And you…something happened to you, Merlin. I watched it. It was like you took it from me. You went rigid and you were shaking and—"

"I don't know what happened," Merlin snapped.

"It was like magic," Arthur whispered, his eyes attempting to read Merlin's face. "It was like magic, Merlin. Like you had it."

"That's ridiculous," Merlin told him, trying to buy time. "I'm not a sorcerer, Arthur. That spell must have addled your brain or—"

"What other explanation could there be, Merlin?"

"It…it…Arthur, I…"

Merlin sighed and closed his eyes. This was it. He couldn't hide any longer. Arthur had caught him red-handed and—Merlin's eyes snapped open. Gaius had given him a charm necklace for his birthday. It was supposed to ward against dark magic. Technically, such charms were illegal in Camelot, but Merlin knew Arthur would be much more understanding about a charm necklace than actual magic ability.

"It isn't magic," Merlin sighed, pulling his neckerchief off and slipping the charm from around his throat. Merlin lowered his eyes to the dirt, acting ashamed, but really masking the flash of gold in his eyes as he made the medal charm glow red hot, as if it had sucked out the heat from Arthur's flesh. "It was this."

He held it out for Arthur to see and glanced up to see his friend appraising it incredulously.

"Where did you get that?" Arthur asked him softly.

"I don't know."

"Tell me the truth, Merlin. Where did you get that?"

"I bought it," Merlin said, looking away as if guilty.

"From who?"

"Arthur—"

"From who, Merlin?"

"A woman in the market. She told me it would protect against dark magic and I thought—"

"You know things like that are illegal, Merlin. If my father saw you with it—" Some unreadable expression flashed across Arthur's face, but he shook it away before Merlin could figure out what it was. "He'd kill you, Merlin. He wouldn't hesitate."

"I know," Merlin said softly. "It was stupid, but…I thought…" He shrugged listlessly.

"Just…just get rid of it," Arthur told him. "Don't let me see something like that around your neck again, you understand me?"

"Yes, sire."

"And Merlin?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you. If it wasn't for your stupidity I wouldn't be alive right now."

Merlin's head snapped up and he looked at Arthur with unreadable eyes. The prince still hadn't moved from his spot on the ground, but color was beginning to rise in his cheeks. That was a good sign. They would rest for a moment and then they would get the hell out of there. Merlin had wanted to do that from the beginning.

"I'm glad you're alright," Merlin told him. "If you'd died on me I don't know what I would have done."

"I didn't know you cared," Arthur grunted, shifting his weight cautiously.

"I don't," Merlin told him. "Uther would skin me alive if I came back to Camelot without you."

"He still might," Arthur told him shakily, staring at something dark smeared across his palm and dripping from his fingertips. "My side, Merlin. Whatever your magic charm did it didn't fix this."

Merlin stared at Arthur's blood, eyes wide. He could feel his heart thumping against his chest erratically and his own blood rushing to his skull. How could he have been so stupid? He'd completely forgotten the damage the spell had done to Arthur's side and there was no way he could manage a healing now. Not only was Arthur conscious, but the last healing he'd done had sucked him dry. If he attempted a spell now he would probably keel over.

"Let me see," he told his friend, standing up on shaky legs and stepping over Arthur to his injured side.

Merlin grimaced as Arthur's blood drenched tunic stuck to the man's skin as he pulled it up and he sucked in a harsh breath at the damage that lay hidden beneath it. He tried to look at it with the same detached eyes that he'd seen Gaius use on so many occasions, but he must not have done a very good job because Arthur called him out on it in seconds.

"A man turning a different color is never a good sign," he said quietly.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Arthur."

"You look green, Merlin. I might be impressed at how quickly you changed hues if circumstances were different."

"How does it feel?" Merlin asked him, cautious to keep any worry from his tone.

"Numb," Arthur said tiredly. "How does it look?"

"A flesh wound," Merlin lied, swallowing past the hard lump in his throat. "You'll be fine in no time, sire."

"Liar," Arthur said softly.

Arthur couldn't have been more right. Merlin glanced down at the wound again and had to swallow the gorge that rose in his throat. It was like Arthur had been struck with a jagged sword, the skin torn and ripped. The wound wasn't wide, but it was long and deep and Merlin thought he could see a white flash of bone where the gash ran down along Arthur's hip. The skin around the gash was blackened, as if held against burning metal, and his flesh was beginning to crack, angry red furrows appearing in the black like tiny fault lines. Dark, mottled bruises trailed along Arthur's ribcage and down beneath his trousers as if the force of the blow had rippled across his skin, damaging whatever it touched.

"It's not so bad," Merlin told him. "Gaius will have you fixed up in no time flat."

"No," Arthur told him quietly. "I don't think so, Merlin."

"Why are you being so difficult, Arthur?"

"Because I can't feel anything," Arthur snapped. "Wounds are supposed to hurt, Merlin. It's your body's way of fighting back. If you don't feel it then you're as good as dead."

"You're not dead yet," Merlin said harshly. "Can you stand up? Walk?"

"What's the point?" Arthur asked.

" It was your idea to go on this stupid hunt in the first place and you are not going to leave me to clean up your mess. Now, either get up and move or I swear I will drag you all the way back to Camelot."

Arthur looked up at him incredulously, then sighed and shook his head. For the second time that night, he held out a hand to Merlin and his servant pulled him to his feet as gently as he could. Arthur's skin was no longer blisteringly hot, but this brought Merlin little comfort. Now Arthur was just cold.

"We'll never make it at night," Arthur told him, leaning against him. "Morgana's men are out there, Merlin. I doubt whoever that sorcerer was managed to get all of them."

"What are you talking about?" Merlin panted, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other and forcing Arthur to do the same.

"The sorcerer," Arthur repeated tiredly. "The one that stopped Morgana's men from following me. I think he killed them, Merlin. He helped save my life. Why would he do that?"

"I don't know how a sorcerer's mind works," Merlin said, ignoring the familiar surge of guilt. "I'm sure he had something to gain by your survival."

"That makes no sense."

"Maybe he knows that you're different from your father, Arthur. Maybe he see's something in you that you don't even see in yourself yet. Maybe he feels that protecting you is the only way to bring balance back into the world."

"See," Arthur said slowly, stumbling slightly. "You say you don't know how a sorcerer's mind works, but then you come up with that." He was quiet for a moment. "I hate magic, Merlin. I know the pain and destruction it causes, but…"

"But?"

"But, every once in a while, I start to think that maybe there is more to it than I understand. More to it than anyone understands. That, maybe, we've been wrong all these years…that we've created such an era of fear that the only ones who dare stand up against it are the ones magic has corrupted." He frowned and shook his head. "Stupid, right?"

"No," Merlin said quietly. "I don't think its stupid at all, sire."

"Your friend?" Arthur asked him suddenly. "Will? Was he evil?"

"No."

"Do you think he ever would have become evil?"

"Absolutely not."

"That's what I mean," Arthur whispered. "Sometimes I wonder if we've been blinded by our own loss, Merlin."

"It wasn't you that was blinded," Merlin told him. "It was your father."

"Merlin," Arthur warned.

Merlin bit his tongue and managed to keep his thoughts to himself. Now wasn't the time for this type of conversation. Arthur had caught him off guard with his questions and Merlin had nearly lost control of himself. That seemed to be happening with more frequency as Arthur came closer to fulfilling his half of the prophecy.

"There are caves up ahead," Merlin said, nodding his head in the direction they were heading in. "We'll camp there for the night, try and get your wound bandaged up, then continue on in the morning."

"You're the boss," Arthur said softly, his eyes drooping.

"I'll remember you said that, sire."

"Please do," Arthur smiled weakly. "The more reasons I have to punish you for insolence the better."

"I'm no longer scared of you, you know."

"Where you ever?"

"A little," Merlin replied, thinking about it. "But not for the reasons you think."

"What reasons were they?"

"My own," Merlin told him cryptically, relief flooding through him as they reached the mouth of the cave.

"You are a strange man, Merlin," Arthur murmured as Merlin lowered him to rest against the back wall of the shallow cave.

"You have no idea, sire."

"I really don't, do I? You keep so many secrets from me, Merlin. You think I don't notice, but I do."

Merlin's heart stuttered, but he kept his expression neutral. Arthur was looking at him with glassy eyes, but he knew that his friend was more than capable of figuring out what was going through his head if he showed too much. Merlin turned away from him, pulling his jacket off his shoulders and pulling the neckerchief he'd stuffed in its pocket when he'd showed Arthur the charm.

"If I keep secrets its for your own good," Merlin told him finally, bending down and lifting Arthur's tunic up. He reached into his other pocket and pulled a pouch from inside.

"Is it?" Arthur asked him, watching his hands as Merlin worked.

"Is it what?"

"For my own good?"

"What else would it be?" Merlin asked tightly, pulling herbs from the pouch and setting them aside for later.

"Your safety," Arthur told him softly.

Merlin's hands jerked on the pouch and it slipped out of his fingers to the ground. What the hell was this? Where was it coming from? Had his friend been hiding the fact that he knew more than he let on? This was not a line of conversation he was used to having with the prince and it terrified him.

He picked the pouch back up, but didn't answer his friend. He wasn't sure what he was going to say yet. Instead, he pulled a ball of white cloth Gaius had given him to bind wounds with from the pouch and began to unravel it. Grabbing the herbs from cave floor, he crushed them into his palm, and allowed water from the cave walls to drip onto the herbs, creating a paste. Arthur didn't know where they were, but Merlin knew. The waters that flowed through the caves were rumored to have healing abilities, but they needed a source of magic to work. Merlin was more than happy to be a conduit, even though he could already feel it draining him more than the previous spell had.

"Safety from what?" he finally asked, smearing the herbs and healing water on the cloth bandages.

"From my father," Arthur whispered. "From me."

"Why would I need protection from your father?" Merlin whispered, wrapping the bandages around Arthur's stomach. "Or, more importantly, from you?"

"I don't know. You tell me. You're the one with secrets, Merlin."

"Some secrets are meant to stay hidden, Arthur."

Arthur nodded and closed his eyes, but they flickered open again a few seconds later. He was looking at Merlin with the strangest expression on his face, calculating, but timid all at the same time.

"What were you dreaming about earlier?" Arthur questioned.

"What?" Merlin said, caught off guard for what felt like the hundredth time that night.

"Earlier," Arthur whispered. "Before the archer came. It looked like you were having a nightmare, Merlin. What was it about?"

You, Merlin thought. Killing me for what I am.

"Doing your laundry," Merlin told him, looking away, knowing that his inability to look his friend in the eye would ruin him.

"Another lie," Arthur told him, but he grinned. "That makes at least three tonight. I used to think you couldn't lie to me, Merlin. But that isn't true, is it?"

"Where is this coming from?" Merlin snapped, guilt threatening to overwhelm him. "You've never questioned me like this before."

"Not to your face," Arthur informed him gently. "But, I've always wondered."

"Wondered what?"

"Who you really are."

"Arthur, what the hell are you talking about?"

"At first, I thought maybe you were a warrior who deserted or something, but I quickly threw that idea out. You were far too clumsy and couldn't even hold a sword properly."

"Definitely not a warrior, sire."

"Then I wondered if you were the son of a nobleman who didn't want to live beneath his family's shadow. Your stubborn streak and inability to take direction fit perfectly for that idea, but eventually I threw that one out to."

"Why?" Merlin asked softly.

"You were too good," Arthur said simply. "Too…well, in light of recent events, honest seems inappropriate, but…" He trailed off, frowning. "You had the heart of a knight, Merlin, but lacked the arrogance of one. Its very rare for someone to have one without the other if they are born to a noble family. The Knights of the Roundtable proved that." He smiled gently. "Besides, I got to see where you grew up, remember? Sons of nobleman don't sleep on the floor."

"You did," Merlin pointed out with a grin

.

"A decision I regretted instantly," Arthur said. "You know, I considered it once."

"Considered what?"

"Running away," Arthur said softly. "Leaving the responsibilities of being heir to the throne behind me."

"What stopped you?"

"You, mostly. I saw what you were willing to sacrifice in the name of duty and I knew I had to stay. It was the right thing to do." He glanced at Merlin sheepishly. "I think I would have dragged you a long with me, though. I would need someone to do my laundry."

"I would have come, Arthur. But you would be on your own with the laundry."

Arthur laughed, but his mirth caught in his chest and he coughed. Once he caught his breath, his eyes were fluttering again and Merlin needed him awake.

"Any other secret identities you pondered?" he asked, all but shouting at his king.

"Just one," Arthur whispered.

"And?"

"I haven't quite thrown it out yet," Arthur told him, meeting his eyes. "I start to, but something always stops me."

"What is it?" Merlin asked.

"You're not a servant," Arthur whispered to him. "I don't think you ever have been. Not really."

"I'm not following you, sire."

"Sometimes I wonder if you're really human," Arthur said quietly.

"What?"

"I'm not phrasing it right," Arthur grimaced. "I know you're human. You're too annoying not to be, but sometimes I think you may be something more than that. More than mortal."

"Don't be stupid," Merlin spat, turning away so Arthur couldn't see his face. "That's ridiculous."

"Is it?" Arthur asked seriously. "I used to think so to, but as the years go by my doubts only continue to grow. Nothing ever adds up with you, Merlin. Trouble strikes and you are nowhere to be found. Before I got to know you I thought you were simply being cowardly, but now I know better. You have never been a coward, Merlin. You've stuck by me too many times. So, that leaves me wondering, where do you go? Why is it that whenever you run off the danger seems to disappear soon afterwards? And then, as soon as the chaos ends, you appear again. You're exhausted. I can see that you're exhausted…like you've been fighting your own battles, but you never mention them and you always try to hide it from me."

"And then," Arthur continued as Merlin sat speechless in front of him. "You know all these things that no servant or simple farm boy should know. Things about curses and spirits and…and magic. You seem to be everywhere and nowhere all at the same time. Bandits seem to fall like flies whenever you're around, Merlin. The first time a tree branch falls on a man you count yourself lucky and say a quick prayer to the gods. The second time it happens you marvel at your good fortune, but the third time? The fourth? When you're confronted with a never-ending stream of seemingly random natural events that always seem to come exactly where and when you need them most? Even the dumbest man alive begins to wonder if there is more to it than good luck and coincidence, Merlin."

"You're always so cryptic. Most of the times its frustrating and annoying, but every once in awhile you let something slip that adds another piece to the puzzle. And you keep sacrificing yourself for me. Why? What servant is that loyal to their master, Merlin? I have never heard of one…even in the stories and myths. Why are you so loyal to me?"

"I'm your friend," Merlin said softly.

"You weren't at the beginning," Arthur countered. "You hated me, Merlin. And I felt the same way about you. I tried so hard to get you to resign the first few months you worked for me, but you never did. At first, I thought you were really that hardheaded, but now I don't think so. You had other reasons for sticking with me. The fact that we became friends was only an unexpected part of whatever your greater mission was." Arthur shook his head.

"Why are you telling me all this?" Merlin asked. "Why now?"

"I could be dead in the morning," Arthur replied calmly. "I thought I should get it all out while I could."

"You won't be dead," Merlin whispered.

"No," Arthur said slowly, his expression unreadable. "Perhaps I won't be, but I wonder why. Any ideas, Merlin?"

"No."

"I didn't think so."

"Arthur," Merlin began, preparing himself for the emotional chaos that would ensue if he continued. "You should know that I—"

"Don't," Arthur said suddenly, holding up hand. "Whatever it is, Merlin, whatever you're keeping from me I don't want to know."

"What?" Merlin yelped. "But…you just—"

"I wanted you to know that I'm not stupid, Merlin. And I'm not blind."

"I don't understand," Merlin said softly.

"I…I don't want to have to hurt you," Arthur whispered, closing his eyes. "I don't know what you are, Merlin, but I know who you are. For right now that's all that matters to me." He smiled softly. "Besides, maybe I'm wrong about this whole thing. Maybe you are just an idiotic, clumsy servant who happens to consort with Druids and has magic charms. Maybe there is a logical explanation for the things you do and I just haven't reached it yet. Maybe its safer that way." Arthur opened his eyes and stared calmly at Merlin. "Do you understand what I'm trying to say?"

"Yes," Merlin whispered.

"My father isn't ready for anything else," Arthur continued. "Camelot isn't ready. And…and I think…I think I'm not either." He looked away from his servant. "What I'm saying is…magic is evil, Merlin. That's the way it has to be for right now. Maybe…one day…" Arthur shrugged listlessly.

Merlin's heart beat an unsteady rhythm in his chest as he stared uncomprehendingly at his friend. Was Arthur saying he knew? Is that what their conversation had been about? The whole thing had happened so quickly that Merlin couldn't be sure. Arthur could have been implying that he knew Merlin talked to Druids or had outside contacts with magical abilities. Or he could have been implying that Merlin knew someone who was a sorcerer and was using them to protect Arthur. But…the possibility was there. The possibility that Arthur had known for some time that Merlin wasn't the average servant. Merlin doubted Arthur knew the extent of his gifts, if he knew about them at all, but if Arthur even suspected Merlin of a little magic he should be facing the pyre, but he wasn't.

"What are you thinking about?" Arthur whispered tiredly.

"The future," Merlin told him simply.

Arthur smiled and nodded, like he understood exactly where his friend's thoughts had taken him. Then he grimaced, shifting his weight slightly.

"You did something," Arthur told him tightly. "I'm starting to feel this. Not much now, but soon…" He broke off, gritting his teeth in pain. "What is this, Merlin?"

"Trust me, Arthur," Merlin said, pressing his hand to the wall and willing more of his magic into its depths. He only hoped the healing water on Arthur's wound would respond. "It will pass."

"I do," Arthur whimpered, pressing his hands to his side. "I do trust you."

Merlin didn't know what to say to that so he decided to say nothing at all. Instead he leaned against the cave wall and settled himself in for what would become one of the longest nights of his life. He could feel the magic draining from him, but healing water was slow and tedious and Arthur's pain worsened as the hours passed.

It was almost dawn by the time Arthur finally passed out, white as a sheet and covered in sweat. His cries of pain had passed into whimpers as his strength drained from him and it was all he could do to remain conscious. Finally, he let go and Merlin felt relief rush through him.

Merlin was exhausted to, but he couldn't afford to sleep. Not yet. He had changed Arthur's bandage four or five times and the wound had been looking better and better each time, but there was still a long ways to go. Still more magic for Merlin to sacrifice…if he even had any left. His limbs were heavy and he felt like every inch of him had been beaten by one of Arthur's sparring sticks.

He allowed himself a moment to sit back against the wall once more, but found that as soon as he did so the urge to close his eyes was too great. They slid shut, Merlin's hand slipping gently into a small pool of water, and the cave latched onto it like a hungry infant. His magic was strong and the wound it was healing needed everything he had. It flowed through him, unchecked and unhindered as he slept. Arthur's chest rose and fell more steadily, color rushed to his cheeks, and his heart beat steady and strong.

When Merlin awoke once more he knew instantly he had slept too long. The sun was low in the sky and he could already here the crickets begin to chirp. He glanced over at Arthur and tried to stand to take care of him, but was struck by a wave of nausea. He hadn't eaten anything since the night before and the measly contents of his stomach came up hot and acidic. He coughed and spluttered as his stomach spasmed and when he was finally done he sat back against the wall and put his head between his knees. It felt like his skull was going to rip open and Merlin grit his teeth against the pain.

He'd always wondered if his magic was tied directly to his life force. This seemed to prove that it was. Merlin was sure that he'd given too much of his magic, too much of himself. His whole body was feeling the consequences of it. But, if Merlin had given too much then perhaps…

"Arthur," Merlin breathed, crouching down beside his friend. "Arthur, are you—"

Merlin's head snapped up when he heard the first bay of a hunting hound in the distance. It was quickly followed by a second and a third, a fourth and a fifth. Morgana's men had recovered their wits and were searching for them, easing their way closer and closer. Their cave would offer them little protection. The mouth was easily seen from the forest and would be the first place they looked for them. They needed to get out of there.

"Arthur," Merlin hissed, shaking his friend and ignoring the wave of dizziness that crashed over him. "Arthur, wake up! The bandits are looking for us!" Arthur didn't stir from his coma like sleep. Healings often did that to a person. They needed time to recuperate their strength. But Arthur didn't have time. If they waited much longer there would be nowhere for them to run.

Merlin stood shakily, setting his hand against the cool rock to brace himself. It would be easy to confront them. It would take next to nothing for him to dispatch them with magic, a thought and a push of his hands would take care of their problem. Except…Merlin didn't have next to nothing. He didn't have anything at all. At least, not enough to do any real damage. He was on his own.

There was only one course of action. One road Merlin could take. Arthur had to be protected…even if it meant giving his life.

He would have to run, lead the bandits away from where Arthur lay comatose. Even the thought of running made him want to barf, but it had to be done. Merlin glanced over at his friend and took the charm from his pocket, laying it across Arthur's chest.

"Keep him safe," he whispered. He wasn't sure who he was talking to. The gods, the cave, the spirits. Whoever would listen, he supposed.

Merlin hobbled to the mouth of the cave and squinted his eyes against the setting sun. He hated running. He'd never been any good at it. When he ran it was asking for disaster to strike. His legs would revolt against him. His muscles would seize up. Hounds bayed to their masters and Merlin grit his teeth.

And then Merlin ran. He pushed every last once of energy he had into his legs. He was already on the verge of collapsing, but it didn't keep him from counting the steps he took in his head, establishing a steady rhythm he could use to keep him going.

Merlin could hear the hounds behind him, hear their masters crashing through the forest in hot pursuit. His breath was harsh in his bruised throat and he almost collapsed, but he managed to regain his footing and keep going. He could see the edges of a small ravine in the distance and he set his eyes on it. If he could reach it he could lose the hounds as he ran through the water. He just had push on a little longer. Just had to—

Something hard slammed into Merlin's left shoulder and sent him crashing to the ground. He could feel whatever it was that hit him splintering bone and ripping muscle and he cried out. Whimpering, he glanced behind him to see Morgana's men slowly progressing towards him. They thought they had him caught, but if he could manage just a little magic he might be able to escape.

He called to the power inside him, but it was instantly drowned in his agonized scream. Shivering, he glanced over at the arrow that had pierced through his shoulder. There was hardly any blood yet, but once the shaft was pulled clean of the wound there would be more than enough. But, it wasn't the arrow that Merlin was horribly concerned with. It was what was on it.

Verbana. The herb that snuffed out his powers as easily as water did a flame. He could feel it pumping through his veins, red hot and icy cold all at the same time. Merlin tried to grasp the shaft to pull it out, but nearly blacked out the pain was so bad. He whimpered and tried to crawl into the forest, but was stopped by a heavy boot on his back.

"Hagen," the man above him called. "We've caught ourselves a rodent."

"Is it the prince?" the man who must have been Hagen asked. "Coran will be furious if it ain't the prince, Badger."

"Not the prince," Badger whispered, placing his boot on the shaft of the arrow and pressing down. Merlin whimpered. "But someone that knows where he is. I think Coran will be able to break out his new toys, Hagen. From what I've heard Prince Arthur's servant is a brave one. And loyal." He grinned maliciously.

"Those are Coran's favorite," Hagen whispered gleefully. He pushed Badger off of Merlin and pulled him up by his collar so that he was sitting back on his knees painfully. "Tell me, boy. Are you a screamer?"

Merlin didn't answer and Hagen shook him violently. Merlin bit down on a scream, but the pain in his shoulder was building. He doubted he could keep quiet for very long even if it did infuriate him to give the men the satisfaction of hearing his cries.

"Cat's got his tongue," Hagen laughed, dropping him to the ground in a heap.

"You could make this easy on yourself," Badger whispered. "Quick and painless. Tell us where Arthur is and I'll slit your throat myself. Promise you won't feel a thing."

"Go…to hell," Merlin spat, trying to rise to all fours.

"No," Badger said softly, pushing him down again. "You're the one who is going to be in hell, little master. Not I." He paused for a moment. "You know, I almost feel sorry for you."

Merlin felt the weight on his back increase for a moment.

"This is going to hurt," Badger informed him. "But, it will be nothing compared to what waits for you back at camp."

"What?" Merlin stammered. "What are you—"

Badger grasped the shaft of the arrow and pulled, making sure to angle the arrow up so that it tore through muscle as it went. Merlin jerked, his breath catching in his throat, as pain erupted in his shoulder. Badger held him down with his feet and continued to pull the arrow out, agonizingly slow. Then, almost as suddenly as it began, the pain eased and Merlin slumped to the ground, gasping for air.

"I wasn't able to get it all," Badger told him. "The tip is still in there, little master. And there is more than a few inches of shaft that won't come lose." He pressed his foot on Merlin's back again. "We can't have that, can we? You might gouge one of my men as they carry you. Something will have to be done."

Merlin wasn't given a chance to prepare himself. He hadn't even caught his breath from the first round. He wasn't expecting another so soon.

Badger lifted his foot and stomped down again, hard, on the shaft of the arrow. The arrow head was driven forward again, at an angle, and tore into Merlin's shoulder bone. The wood splintered and broke off, embedding slivers of sharp, stabbing wood deep in the wound.

Merlin's world went white. There was nothing but the pain, the agony.

He didn't even hear himself scream.


	6. Tomorrow Will Be Kinder

**Author's Note:** _Daylight Savings Time sucks! I lose an hour of sleep for absolutely no reason at all! Anyways, there is my rant for the evening and here is the next chapter for you to read. Please take a moment to REVIEW and let me know what you think because I wasn't sure how this chapter sounded._

Arthur couldn't remember the last time he'd woken up feeling as awful as he did then. His side ached horribly and the skin stretched across his ribs was tight and tender. His throat was so enflamed from the long hours of agonized screaming that it felt like he was swallowing coarse sand. His head pounded, his joints were stiff and achy, and his mind felt fuzzy.

Even after he'd woken up from his ordeal with the Questing Beast he hadn't felt this bad. The only time that came even close to comparing was the time Merlin had somehow tricked Arthur into a drinking contest. Merlin swore up and down that he could drink his master under the table any day of the week and when Arthur had disagreed Merlin had happily called his bluff in front of all Arthur's knights and most of the Lower Town. It was either give in to his servant's flight of fancy or be known as a prince that allowed village idiots like Merlin to challenge him. Winning a drinking contest didn't matter in the slightest. Winning a drinking contest against _Merlin _mattered a great deal.

Only, Arthur hadn't won. He hadn't even come close. When his head began spinning Merlin was still standing, grinning at him like a loon. When his stomach began churning Merlin was clapping him on the back in barely concealed amusement. Eventually, Arthur hadn't even been able to stand on his own and it took the effort of both Merlin and Gwain to get him back to the castle. His stupid servant was all smiles and chuckles until Arthur threw up for the first time. The grin on his face disappeared faster than a rabbit down a burrow when he realized that it was his duty to clean up whatever the prince messed up. Arthur didn't feel bad for him in the slightest because Merlin had cheated. He didn't know how, but he _knew _Merlin had done something to beat him. He knew because he'd seen Merlin become completely incoherent after drinking only a half-pint of ale. He knew because his servant didn't frequent the tavern as often as Gaius said he did.

It hadn't taken Arthur long to figure out Gaius was lying to him. Perhaps if Merlin had been anyone other than who he was it would have been easier to believe, but his servant was both elusive and incredibly straightforward. His everyday emotions and reactions to the world around him were strangely simple and Arthur suspected that Merlin lacked the capability to hide _who_ he really was even if he wanted to. Arthur knew his servant was a good man, a loyal friend, and a trustworthy companion. He knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that Merlin would never betray him, never put him in harms way, and never do anything he believed would hinder the man Arthur was supposed to become. There was another side of his servant, however, that was as mysterious to Arthur as the gods and their world of mist and shadow. There was another side of Merlin that terrified him…and he didn't know why.

Leon had once asked him why Arthur simply didn't march down to the tavern and haul Merlin out by his ears. Well, to be fair, the hauling Merlin out by his ears was Arthur's interpretation of the knight's words, but the inquiry was the same. Why didn't Arthur put a stop to Merlin's behavior if it bothered him so much? He had the power and he was well in his rights to do it, so why didn't he? He'd told Leon it was because Merlin wasn't worth the effort, but he'd been lying and he was fairly certain the veteran knight knew it. The real reason he didn't confront Merlin in the tavern was because he wasn't sure he was ready to face the implications of what Arthur suspected he would find there. Or wouldn't find, as the case may be.

If he arrived at the tavern only to find that Merlin wasn't there, had never been there, it would force Arthur to deal with what had been staring him in the face since their strange partnership had began. It would require him to look closer at the comings and goings of his best friend. It would mean making decisions he wasn't ready to make or even really consider. Where did Merlin go if he wasn't at the tavern? Why did Gaius feel the need to lie about it? And what the hell was Arthur supposed to do if Merlin was doing something illegal? Something that would get him killed.

His father wasn't taking Morgana's betrayal well and spent most of his days staring out the windows in his room, but Arthur knew that if Uther detected even a hint of sorcery he would become the merciless king once more. If Uther ever tried to have Merlin executed Arthur didn't know what he'd do. He wouldn't be able to watch his friend die, wouldn't be able to sit by and hear Merlin's screams as the flames crawled higher or watch him struggle at the end of a rope. He would kill Merlin himself before he would _ever _watch that. If Uther ever discovered his son's servant was involved in magic there would be little Arthur could do short of smuggling Merlin out of Camelot. And what would that make him? A supporter of magic? A traitor to everything his father stood for and had taught him?

There was little doubt in Arthur's mind that his friend was deeply connected with magic. He didn't know the capacity in which Merlin followed the Old Religion or even if he practiced sorcery at all, but he knew that his servant was friends with Druids. He knew Merlin had studied the Old Religion at one time or another and often called upon those studies to save their lives from threats known or unknown to Arthur. More importantly, Arthur knew that his friend had undertaken his protection, but whether or not Merlin was working alone or with others he wasn't sure.

Arthur was alive because Merlin wanted him alive…or needed him. He just didn't know why. It was a thought that had often kept him up at night and he was torn between keeping his mouth shut or simply asking his servant for the truth, plain and simple. It hadn't been until last night that Arthur had realized he wasn't ready for the truth. It hadn't been until Merlin performed his little trick and practically sucked the black magic out of him, supposedly with the help of a little charm, that Arthur understood just how afraid he was. How close he stood to the edge of no return. If he continued down the path he was on there was no going back. No pretending that Merlin was a weak, fumbling, idiot instead of a capable, dangerous, and incredibly intuitive man of worlds beyond Arthur's understanding.

The idea of Merlin being a dangerous man was a sobering one and Arthur quickly shook his head as if the movement would banish his thoughts. He almost immediately wished he hadn't. The throbbing in his skull grew and Arthur felt the nausea that so often followed severe headaches churning in his belly. He lay back, panting, and waited for the pain to ease and the dark spots in his vision to vanish. He concentrated on the steady dripping of the water droplets falling onto the cave floor and had almost slipped back into sleep when he realized he hadn't seen his servant.

Normally, in situations such as this, Arthur would wake to Merlin fussing over him like a mother cat. Or, at the very least, watching him sleep in a very intense and disconcerting manner, as if Merlin believed that if he stared at Arthur long enough he could will his wounds closed with the power of his mind. Hell, perhaps he could. Merlin was _always_ there when Arthur regained consciousness. Sometimes he was in worse shape than Arthur was, sometimes he was asleep himself, but he was always there. And now he wasn't.

"Merlin?" Arthur called, wincing as pain ripped through his throat. "Merlin, where are you?"

Nothing answered him but the slow steady drip of water down the cave walls. Arthur felt a tiny tendril of unease slither into his gut and work the already resident nausea into a frenzy. He closed his eyes and swallowed then spotted the small pool of water a foot to his left. He cupped his hands in the shallow water and brought it to his lips, pleasantly surprised at how soothing it felt against his throat. He took another mouthful, dried his hands on his trousers, and attempted to get to his feet. His legs were shaky and his head threatened to explode, but he managed it without too much effort and was even able to take a few hitching steps towards the cave entrance where Merlin would be waiting for him.

Where Merlin _had_ to be waiting for him. Arthur imagined a large, crackling fire and maybe even a fish or two that Merlin would have caught from the stream Arthur felt sure was lurking somewhere. Of course, Merlin couldn't fish any better than he could hunt, but it was Arthur's daydream and it would involve fish whether Merlin could catch one or not. The young man had probably managed to find some horses and would have them saddled and ready to return to Camelot as soon as Arthur was able. He would gloat and tell Arthur that he needed to listen to him more often. Arthur would roll his eyes and give five reasons why listening to his servant was a terrible idea. They would fall asleep to the sound of crickets chirping and by the time the next morning came around Arthur would be ready to return to Camelot.

Of course, Arthur refused to acknowledge the thousand reasons his scenario probably didn't exist. It was the only way he could keep his nerves under control and manage the grueling walk to the mouth of the cave. It was the only thing keeping him from screaming Merlin's name until the stupid man answered him. Because Merlin was _always_ there.

When Arthur finally reached the mouth of the cave he stood staring out at the sight that greeted him for a long time. The sun had all but disappeared behind the mountains in the west and the trees cast oblong shadows across the forest floor. There was no large, crackling fire. There were no fish and no horses. There was no irritable servant to gripe and complain about him. There was only darkness and the mournful cry as the wind whipped through the trees.

"Merlin," Arthur rasped out, staring intently at the trees beyond him for signs of his missing friend. "Where the hell are you? I know you probably think hiding from me is funny, but I'm not in the mood."

Once again Arthur was met with silence and he could feel his heart begin a frantic rhythm against his chest. Merlin was an idiot, true. He was strange and confusing and irritating, but he was Arthur's friend. Arthur's best friend. The idea of him in danger left the prince breathless with worry. Arthur knew Merlin was in trouble. He'd known from the very beginning because the only reason Merlin wouldn't be at his side was if Merlin _couldn't _be.

"Merlin," Arthur shouted, fully panicked now. "Merlin, you answer me dammit! I'll put you in the stocks if you don't! No, I'll double your chores, Merlin! I'll make you polish every set of armor with a toothbrush!" He waited for the reply he knew wouldn't come. "Merlin, please…"

Arthur slid down the rock wall and put his head in his hands. He had to make sense of the situation he'd found himself in. He was alone in the Darkling Woods without a horse, without armor, and without supplies. The only weapons he had were the tiny dagger Merlin had dropped when he'd flung himself at the old fisherman and a crossbow loaded with a single bolt. He was miles away from Camelot and had no way to communicate his whereabouts or his situation to his knights. Merlin was missing and Arthur had absolutely no way to track him. Even if Arthur found him he had no way of knowing what condition his servant would be in. Or what kind of forces stood between them.

Arthur knew instinctually that his worst fears had finally come true. Merlin had been taken prisoner by the bandits who had tried to chase them down. Nothing else made sense. Arthur supposed Merlin could have injured himself out in the dense forest. Tripped and broken a leg or knocked himself out on a low hanging tree branch, but the details didn't fit with what Arthur knew. He knew Merlin wouldn't have left his side if he'd had any other choice. There would have been no reason for the young man to go gallivanting off on his own unless he was fleeing from something or leading something away from Arthur.

Arthur cursed loud enough to send a flock of quail scurrying for quieter places to roost. That sounded exactly like something Merlin would do. Sacrificing himself seemed to be the only thing his servant excelled at. Gwen often told him that he had a hero complex and Merlin had a death wish. Neither of them ever seemed to grow tired of it. Arthur would save the day and Merlin would inevitably save Arthur. Only this time Merlin had flung himself right in the middle of the lion's den and the only man who could save him seemed to have lost his whip. And his sword. And his armor. And just about everything else.

He didn't know what to do. He could travel back to Camelot to get reinforcements, but the journey would take days without a horse. By the time Arthur and his knights returned to the Valley of the Fallen Kings Merlin could be dead and any trail that Arthur might have been able to follow would have been wiped away by wind or rain. He would have absolutely nothing to go on and Merlin would die anyways. Yet, trying to find Merlin without help seemed no better. Sure, he could probably track his servant down, but what was he supposed to do once he found him? Arthur was a great fighter, but even he had his limits. He would need the luck of the gods to even hope of winning against numerous men with both magic and blades on their side. Charging in without a plan would get them both killed and Merlin's sacrifice, as idiotic as it was, would be for nothing.

No, Arthur had to remain calm and levelheaded. He had to think like a knight and conduct himself as if he were a king. He was the sole heir of Camelot and though his father was technically still alive the man was unfit to rule. If anything happened to Arthur his lands, and all the people who lived within its borders, would fall to ruin. He couldn't afford to make mistakes this late in the game, but he also couldn't sit back and leave his friend to die. What the hell was he supposed to do?

Arthur's head snapped up when he heard a twig crack somewhere in the distance. He realized, with some chagrin, that he was sitting out in the open in a forest crawling with bandits who wanted nothing more than to slit his throat. Drawing the tiny dagger from his trouser pocket, he slowly got to his feet and watched the tree line for any sign of movement. His legs still felt shaky and weak, but they weren't as bad as before and Arthur thanked the gods for whatever small miracles they saw fit to offer him.

He could hear voices coming from the shadows of the forest and he ducked down low against the rocks at the base of the cave. Lights from torches could be seen flickering a few yards away and Arthur made out the distant sound of a horse snorting. He could barely make out the shadowy figures sitting atop their steeds, but he counted them in his head. There were six of them; too many for Arthur to take out on his own. He would have to stay hidden and hope they didn't see him. He would have to—

"Do you think the Princess does this on purpose?" one of the figures said. Arthur poked his head up over the top of the rocks. He knew that voice. It had driven him crazy for the better part of two years. "I mean, he does realize that I have better things to do with my time than save his sorry ass, right?"

"Yeah?" another figure chuckled. Arthur knew that voice to. His heart swelled with hope and he took a cautious step from behind the rocks. "Like what?"

"Like courting beautiful women," the first figure said loftily. "Not that you would know anything about that, eh, Percy?"

Arthur could hardly believe what he was seeing and he cast a suspicious look at the sky. If the gods were always this giving Arthur would have to make a point to pray to them more often. His knights were here. His knights were in the Valley of the Fallen Kings. His knights would help him rescue Merlin and then watch as Arthur pummeled him for scaring the hell out of him.

"Percival doesn't have to court women," said a voice that still sent shivers of delight up Arthur's spine. "He simply sweeps them off their feet."

"Gwen?" Arthur shouted loudly. "Guinevere?"

The figures stopped and Arthur watched as their horses pranced nervously.

"Princess?" Gwain called back. "Is that your soprano I hear?"

"Is your name Gwen?" Arthur snapped, frowning as he watched the group dismount and make their way towards him.

"No," Gwain said as he cleared the tree line. "But I thought you said Gwain. Gwen. Gwain. Its an easy mistake to make, my lord."

"Only if you're an idiot," Arthur said, going to hug Guinevere as she was escorted by her brother and Lancelot. Leon and Percival brought up the rear, the latter holding all four torches the group was carrying in his large hands.

"Someone is in a mood," Gwain grumbled. "Waste a perfectly good day at the taverns looking for you and this is the thanks we get?"

Arthur was about to reply, but was stopped by Gwen's gasp of shock. Arthur glanced at her and found her staring down at his shirt as if she'd seen a ghost. The fabric was twisting between her fingers as she held it up in the torchlight and Arthur cursed. His tunic was covered in blood, his blood.

"Sire," Leon said. "Sire, you're—"

"I'm fine," he said quickly. "I mean, I wasn't but now I am."

"What happened?" Elyan asked softly.

"We were attacked," Arthur told them. "Morgana's men. I was injured, but…" He trailed off, not sure how to explain what had taken place between him and Merlin the night before.

"Where's Merlin?" Lancelot asked quietly, looking at Arthur as if he already knew the answer.

"They took him," Arthur whispered. Finally saying the words aloud somehow made the situation more real. Arthur's stomach squirmed. "At least, I am pretty sure they did."

"You don't know?" Gwain asked incredulously. "The man serves you loyally for years and you don't even know what happened to him?"

"I was unconscious," Arthur snapped, already feeling guilty enough. "There was nothing I could have done, Gwain."

"Have you even tried looking for him?" Gwain growled.

"I haven't had the chance," Arthur hissed. "I was trying to figure out a plan when you—"

"A plan," Gwain snorted. "Its always a plan with you, Princess. You take so long figuring out what you're going to do and how you're going to do it that by the time you finally make a decision its all over and done with." He took a step towards Arthur and scowled. "Merlin's life depends on you and you sit here and plan."

"I have to act like a king," Arthur told him, cringing inwardly as the words tumbled out.

"I see," Gwain said slowly, staring at Arthur in contempt. "Merlin's expendable. You're not."

"That isn't how I meant it, Gwain. I just meant that—"

"I know exactly what you meant, Princess. That's all Merlin has ever been to you, isn't it? Expendable. He practically kills himself trying to please you. Trying to make you happy. And you can't even manage a simple thank you." Gwain shook his head derisively. "You've never deserved him, Arthur Pendragon. You've humiliated him, degraded him, and now that he's in trouble you're deserting him. You know nothing about being a king, you stupid pr—"

"He's my best friend," Arthur hissed, his voice low with fury. "If you think that the thought of him in the hands of my enemies doesn't make me sick then you—" Arthur broke off and swallowed past the lump in his throat. "I care for him more than you could ever know, Gwain. You say I don't appreciate him, but you have no idea how wrong you are. Do I always treat him with the respect he deserves? No, and I'll be the first to admit it, but…don't you ever believe that I think Merlin is expendable."

Gwain stared at the prince a long time before he finally nodded slightly and backed off. Arthur let out a slow breath and had to sit back against the rock wall again lest his knees buckle beneath him. His head was starting to pound again though he wondered if it was more because of listening to Gwain than anything else.

"If anything happens to him," Arthur murmured tiredly. "I don't know what I'll do."

"Merlin is stronger than he looks," Lancelot said quietly.

Arthur glanced up at the knight and frowned. Lancelot's expression was cryptic, but the prince got the feeling that he knew more than he was letting on. It wouldn't be the first time Arthur wondered if the knight was in on Merlin's little secret. Nor would it be the first time that the prince felt a strange surge of jealousy over the fact that Lancelot might know Merlin better than he did. Might share something Arthur didn't.

"What are you all doing here?" Arthur asked instead of acknowledging Lancelot's words. "How did you know we were in trouble?"

"We didn't," Leon told him. "But we suspected you might be. We received word of Morgana being seen in the area."

"We got worried," Elyan continued. "It may seem silly, but we thought it was better to be safe than sorry."

"And it looks like we were right," Percival rumbled.

Arthur nodded and smiled at his men gratefully. He was too tired to do much of anything else.

"Arthur," Gwen said hesitantly. "You said you were injured and you're shirt is covered in blood, but I don't see a mark on you. What happened?"

"I don't know," Arthur answered honestly. "It was Merlin. He—"

"He showed you?" Lancelot asked sharply.

"No," Arthur said more calmly than he felt. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Lancelot. Nor do I want to." Lancelot nodded slowly before looking away.

"Showed him what?" Gwain asked, his interest piqued.

"Nothing," Arthur snapped impatiently. "Leave it alone, Gwain."

"But—"

"Leave it alone," Arthur said between clenched teeth. "If it was something you needed to know, Gwain, I would have told you."

Gwain scowled and opened up his mouth to reply, but Percival clamped his giant hand around it. Gwain didn't look amused, but when the big knight took his hand away he did not try to speak again.

"What did Merlin do?" Leon asked quietly.

"It was a charm," Arthur replied, glancing at Lancelot. "A magic charm he bought off a woman in Camelot. He said it was supposed to keep him safe and protect him from dark spells. He gave it to me." Arthur held up the tiny charm in his fingers and touched the carved wood.

"Merlin had that?" Elyan murmured, taking the charm from him and looking at it in awe. "That's powerful magic, sire. You see the symbol here? How it looks like an F but with the prongs in the middle?" Arthur nodded. "That's the Ogham sign for Luis."

"Ogham?" Gwain asked.

"It's a Druid lettering system," Elyan explained. "Each ogham symbol is connected with a different tree and means different things. The first half of Merlin's is connected with the Rowan tree and it offers protection."

"And the second half?" Arthur questioned.

"I believe this is Duir," Elyan said as he studied the charms. "The oak tree. Symbolizes strength and stability."

"How do you know all this?" Percival asked.

"I've been around," Elyan shrugged. "One learns about the world when one travels it."

"So these…what do you call them…oghams…they have power?" Arthur asked.

"A great deal," Elyan explained. "But, I don't think Merlin would have been able to find something like this within Camelot, sire."

"Why not?"

"Charms like this are rare," Elyan told him. "They aren't easy to make and…" Elyan broke off and grimaced. "Sire, I'm not saying that Merlin is involved in any sorcery, but charms likes these are extremely personal. Whoever made this wanted Merlin to have it. The charm wouldn't have offered protection to anyone besides who it was intended to. Or anyone the owner wished to give it to." He sighed. "If Merlin gave this to you then he wanted you to have the same protection he did."

"Or he didn't know," Gwen said. "Perhaps he didn't understand the power behind—"

"He understood," Arthur sighed. "He told me he understood. He just neglected to tell me everything. That seems to be a pattern for us lately."

"Arthur," Gwen began.

"We should get some rest," Arthur interrupted, staring up at the night sky. "We won't be able to track Merlin until morning anyways and I have a feeling we'll need all the strength we can get."

"I'll take first watch," Lancelot offered. "And you should really consider eating something, sire. You don't look well."

Arthur grunted in reply and gave the knight a brisk nod of acknowledgment. He was so exhausted that all he could do was lay back and watch his men set up a small camp, lighting a small fire and boiling some watery stew with rabbit meat Percival had caught earlier in the day. Gwen pushed a bowl of steaming broth into Arthur's hands and he ate it gratefully, scarfing it down before he even realized how hot it was. He took his time on his second bowl and by the time he was finished it was a struggle just to keep his eyes open.

Guilt swept through him at the thought. How could he sleep when he knew Merlin was most likely hurt or dead? How could he even entertain the idea of rest when his best friend would be tortured because of his relationship with him?

He could hear the rustle of Gwen's dress as she sat beside him and breathed in the smell of her. Lavender and honeysuckle with the slightest undertones of lemons. He loved the way she smelled and he put up no resistance when she put his head in her lap.

"We'll find him," Gwen told him softly. "You'll see, Arthur. Everything will be all right in the end. It always is, isn't it?"

Yes, Arthur thought. We'll find him, Gwen. But in what condition?

Arthur was asleep before he could voice his thoughts. Maybe that was a good thing.

After all, Arthur didn't have the heart to tell her that the only reason things were good in the end was because Merlin was around to make them that way. Without his servant there were no happy endings. Without the strange young man from Ealdor there was no sliver lining.

Without Merlin there really wasn't much of anything at all.


	7. Nice Guys Finish Last

**Author's Note: **_Ok, this chapter gets pretty intense and for all those who like Merlin whump…well…you've got it in spades. I had to do a lot of research into medieval torture devices just to see what I would and would not use and can I just say that the one I chose for his first round is the lesser of all evils. There was some pretty jacked up stuff out there, people. I nearly got sick reading about it all. Anyways, I hope you enjoy the chapter despite its morbidity. Please REVIEW and let me know._

Merlin woke hanging upside down with his hands tied tightly behind his back. He had no way of knowing how long he'd been there, but if the throbbing of his skull and the numbness of his legs was any indication it had been awhile. He could dimly feel the phantom pressure of a rope around his ankles and he tried to raise his head to see if what he was attached to was breakable. As he strained upwards his shoulder screamed in protest and Merlin fell back, gasping. He wished he could untie his hands, but the icy burn of Verbana in his veins stopped him from even thinking of a spell in his head.

Black spots danced merrily across his vision, but Merlin could just barely make out the trunk of the tree he must have been dangling from. He could hear voices behind him and the irritated whinny of horses to his left. The smell of roasted rabbit and herbs wafted through the air and Merlin's stomach clenched uncomfortably. It seemed strange that he would feel hunger in a moment like this, trussed up and vulnerable, with an aching shoulder wound and the threat of torture hanging over his head. Still, the body would not be denied and his stomach mewled out a piteous growl for attention. The sound only confirmed Merlin's aching desire: he had to get out of this mess.

He briefly toyed with the idea of swinging the rope to and fro in the hopes that he would be able to shake himself loose, but he quickly dismissed it. The last time he'd attempted to move had been agony on his shoulder and he doubted he would be able to remain quiet for long. If he screamed, cried out, or so much as groaned he would alert the bandits to his plan and they would swiftly put a stop to it…painfully. Besides, with Merlin's luck he would somehow manage to smack his head against the trunk of the tree in the process of getting free and knock himself out again. He would still be in the same position only now he would have a head wound to throb in time with the one in his shoulder.

Merlin concentrated on breathing deeply in and out while he ran through various escape scenarios. Unfortunately, every one of them seemed to involve magic of some kind and Merlin suddenly found himself wishing that Arthur were there with him. A selfish thought, perhaps, but the prince always seemed to weasel his way out of situations such as these and without magic Merlin wasn't much use at all.

His thoughts were suddenly halted when he heard footsteps crunching through leaves coming towards him. He quickly closed his eyes and tried to look unconscious, but he must not have been very convincing because there was a low laugh followed by a rough kick between his shoulder blades by a heavy boot.

"We know you're awake, little rat," Badger told him. "So open your eyes. You're not fooling anyone."

Merlin opened his eyes just as Badger grabbed the rope around Merlin's legs and swung him around to face him. Badger's long, lean frame towered over him, a malicious grin spread across his face, eyes shining with sadistic merriment. He held a knife in his hands and Merlin watched wearily as he leaned over him. Not that there was much he could do if Badger decided to stab him with it. A second pair of boots appeared on Merlin's right and his eyes immediately shifted to address the newcomer. It was Hagan, the veritable giant of a man that had shook Merlin around like a doll made out of straw. He had an old fashioned bow swung over his shoulder and while Badger was grinning like a loon his face was somber and serious.

"Coran wants to see you, little rat," Badger told him, bending down and flipping the knife back and forth haphazardly in front of Merlin's eyes. "He says we haven't been treating you right, tying you upside down and all. So we're here to cut you down and bring you to him."

With that Badger straightened and sawed the knife through the rope until it snapped, sending Merlin tumbling to the ground in a heap. He landed on his injured shoulder and the pain that jarred through him took his breath away. He rolled over on his side and whimpered, but was granted little reprieve as Badger's boot struck him hard in the ribs.

"None of that," Badger ordered, yanking Merlin to his knees by his rope tied hands. "Coran doesn't like to be kept waiting." He pulled Merlin to his feet and practically swung him around to face Hagen as Merlin desperately tried to get his legs to work. They were completely useless after being strung up for so long, but Badger cared very little whether his prisoner's feet worked or not.

"You see this man, little rat?" Badger continued, gesturing at Hagen with his free hand. "He's a marksman with that bow, you know. You try to escape and he'll put an arrow through your knees before you get five paces. Understood?"

Merlin nodded once, his teeth grit tight as the pressure on his shoulder and the burning pain in his legs began to overwhelm him. Badger seemed to accept this, however, because before Merlin could process what was happening he was being dragged across the bandit camp towards a large makeshift tent in the corner. The throbbing in his shoulder reached a crescendo and before he could stop himself he whimpered and squirmed in Badger's grasp, trying to find relief from the pressure the man was exerting.

"What did I tell you?" Badger hissed, throwing Merlin roughly forwards. Perhaps the bandit had been expecting Merlin to stand on his own, but without the man's agonizing support Merlin's legs gave out almost immediately and he toppled to the forest floor. There was a snort of derision and then, "Hagan, help our young friend here reach Coran's tent."

The giant man lumbered towards him and Merlin tried to scrabble backwards, out of Hagan's reach, but his hands were tied too tightly to allow him much movement. The big man backhanded him once across the face and Merlin tasted blood and was fairly certain he could feel a gaping hole where his right molar used to be. Dazed by the blow, Merlin was unable to keep Hagan from wrapping his sausage fingers around his throat and lifting him upwards, dangling him from the big man's hand as if he were a rodent Hagan had caught.

Merlin tried to struggle in Hagan's grasp, but between his tied hands and the fact that his legs refused to work properly he wasn't making much headway. An awful sound reached him, a sort of harsh, spluttering cough that sounded painful to his ears. It took him a moment to realize that the sound was coming from him as he attempted to breathe past Hagan's gripping fingers. He could feel the giant man moving beneath him, large strides that would have easily matched three of his own. His vision was beginning to dim, but before the warlock could black out completely there was a soft rustle of fabric being pulled aside and an angry snarl from someone on the inside.

Suddenly, Hagan's fingers released and Merlin dropped to his knees, coughing as air attempted to rush back through his bruised throat. The black spots began to recede and Merlin looked up to find himself at the feet of a young man, not much older than himself. He was scowling distastefully at Badger and Hagan and as the rushing sound faded from Merlin's ears he was able to make out what the man was saying.

"You've disrespected our guest," he was saying coolly. "And embarrassed me. I will not tolerate stupidity among my men. Nor will I tolerate disobedience. Do I make myself perfectly clear?"

Both men nodded, but Merlin could see how much it cost them to do it. They didn't like being told what to do or being chastised in an extremely public manner. Merlin looked up at the man in front of him and studied his cool, intelligent eyes and confident posture. This man was the leader. This man was the infamous Coran Merlin had so desperately wanted to avoid meeting.

"Go and do something useful," Coran told them dismissively. "Your presence is no longer required and I find myself growing rather tired of seeing your blank faces and vacant stares." He leaned down to Merlin and chuckled softly when the warlock flinched back from him. "I need time to speak with our new friend. Alone. I do not wish to be disturbed for any reason unless that reason includes the young Prince Arthur's head on a stake."

The two bandits nodded and took their leave, sending Merlin one last scathing look as they left. Suddenly, Merlin found himself alone with Coran and he almost wished the bandits would come back. Coran had tools designed for torture. Coran liked to break men who were loyal and true. Merlin was sure that he fit the bill for both those qualities and he knew he was going to be used for whatever purposes Coran deemed fit…whether he talked or not. The man would show him no mercy and give him no slack. Merlin was sure of it.

He was so sure of this fact that when Coran knelt behind him and cut the ropes from around his hands he was rendered speechless. Slowly and gingerly, he brought his aching hands around and tried to rub the feeling back in them, being careful not to overstretch his shoulder. He stared at Coran uncertainly and the young bandit grinned.

"What?" Coran said. "Did you expect something else?" Merlin didn't answer and Coran's grinned widened. "I suppose I can't blame you after the way my men have treated you thus far. My humblest apologies…Merlin, was it?"

Merlin continued to stare at the bandit uncomprehendingly, but whether this fazed Coran or not he couldn't say. The bandit leader simply shrugged his shoulders and made his way across the tent to small wooden chest. He lifted the lid and pulled a strip of cloth from its depths then crossed the room again where he picked up two steaming bowls of what smelled like rabbit stew and two goblets filled with water. Coran haphazardly juggled the handful to where Merlin sat and carefully placed the two bowls, the water goblets, and the strip of cloth next to one another on the ground. Then, without a single glance at his prisoner, the man grabbed a bucket from beside the tent's entrance and walked out without a word.

Merlin blinked once in shock. The man had left him alone. He couldn't believe that the bandit's leader was that incredibly stupid, but he wasn't going to stick around to tell him so. If Coran actually thought Merlin would be there when he returned from wherever he'd been going then he deserved every ounce of ridicule Merlin knew would be coming from his men. That was the thing about leadership. It was great until a mistake was made…then it turned insulting…sometimes dangerously so.

It wasn't until Merlin tried to rise that he realized Coran's departure had nothing to do with stupidity. His legs still wouldn't work and it took all he had just to manage a small, hitching step before his knees buckled beneath him. He landed hard in the dirt and his shoulder exploded with pain. He yelped, but was still determined to make good his escape. If he could just pull himself forward with his arms he might be able to—the pain of that simple gesture left him breathless and Merlin realized he wouldn't be escaping. Coran had known that from the beginning.

The tent flap opened and Coran stared down at him, unsurprised to find him sprawled out across the ground. The bandit sighed theatrically and shook his head, stepping over the prone warlock as he set the bucket, now filled with water, down beside the bowls of stew. Then, as if to confuse his prisoner even more, he bandit gently helped him back into a sitting position before wetting the cloth in the bucket and handing it to him.

"To clean the blood off your hands," the bandit explained. "Before we eat."

"Eat?" Merlin questioned hoarsely.

"Well," Coran said in a surprised tone. "Yes. You didn't think I could eat two bowls of stew by myself, did you?"

Merlin was speechless once more, but he didn't know if this was because he had nothing of any importance to say or if his silence was born from complete shock. Coran stared at him expectantly from his spot on the ground. Merlin sighed and pulled the bucket towards him, wincing as the movement pulled at his wounded shoulder. He dipped the cloth the bandit had given him into the cool water and tried not to groan in relief as it dripped down on his rope burned skin. He gently wiped his hands clean of dirt and blood then rinsed the cloth out so he could clean the arrow wound.

"Here," Coran said softly, leaning towards him. "Let me help you."

Merlin jerked back from him and Coran stopped, frowning.

"I'm not going to harm you," the bandit told him. "I'm trying to help."

"Why?" Merlin croaked.

"You have something I want," Coran said. "Something I need. It would behoove us both if we conducted our business like civilized men, don't you think?"

"I know what you want," Merlin whispered. "And I can't give it to you."

"That remains to be seen," Coran said with a sunny, unconcerned smile. "Every man has his price, Merlin. I just need to discover yours. In the meantime, there is little reason for me to act like a barbarian so, please, let me help you."

Merlin studied the young bandit for a long moment. There was something about him that seemed both terrifyingly peculiar and alarmingly familiar all at the same time. As he looked closer, Merlin realized that there was no stupidity in this man, no chance of fooling him. His eyes were warm at the moment, but Merlin could see the cold and calculating intelligence in those vibrant pools of green. The young man smiled again, as if to ease his doubts, and it was the grin that struck him as familiar.

Arthur. Arthur smiled like that. Usually when he wanted something or thought he was being particularly clever. It was unsettling to see the same cocky grin that Merlin had grown so accustomed to seeing for the last five years on a man who could not be more different from his prince. Instead of easing his doubts, the man's grin only made the flame of unease in Merlin's belly grow into a raging inferno.

Still, if playing Coran's game bought him some time he would be a fool not to take the man up on his offer. So, with a reluctant sigh, he held out the damp cloth like a peace offering, trying not to grimace when the bandit's hand touched his. He stiffened when Coran stood and walked to stand behind him, but he needn't have worried. The bandit sat down behind him and took Merlin's tunic between his hands, pulling the fabric apart so he could gain easier access to his wound.

"That was my favorite tunic," Merlin said drily.

"My apologies," Coran commented lightly, ignoring Merlin's hiss of pain as he dabbed at the injury as gently as he could. "I thought that between the blood and the arrow hole you would consider it soiled, but I suppose I was incorrect in that assumption."

"I suppose you were," Merlin hissed, wincing as the cloth fibers caught on the edges of his torn flesh.

"You seem to have finally found your voice," Coran chuckled. "I was beginning to wonder if you could speak more than a single syllable. I find this version of you much more entertaining."

"I only aim to please," Merlin grunted.

"Do you?"

"Do I what?"

"Aim to please?"

"Depends."

"On?"

"Who it is I'm supposed to be pleasing," Merlin answered slowly, watching the bandit's hands move over his shoulder to clean the front of his wound.

"Let's say, for the moment, that the person you're supposed to be pleasing is me," Coran said.

"Well, then it depends on what you're asking."

"I think you know."

"Do I?"

"Morgana never mentioned you were this much fun," Coran laughed instead of answering his inquiry. "I believe that word play is every bit as important as sword play, but it seems our friend the witch does not agree. She's rather boring, isn't she?"

"Morgana," Merlin whispered. "She's here?"

"Not yet," Coran shrugged. "We've sent word to her, but have no way of knowing when or where she'll show up."

"Sent word to her? About me?"

"About our failure to kill Arthur," Coran corrected. "I told her nothing about you."

"Why would you do that?"

"I already told you," Coran explained. "I believe that you and I can come to an agreement without any further unpleasantness. If she knew of your presence she would demand I kill you and I would have to deny her."

"Why?"

"Because I am not a servant to be ordered about," Coran hissed, pressing the cloth hard into Merlin's shoulder. "I follow no whims but my own." His death grip on Merlin's shoulder released and Coran was the pleasant host once more. "But, you would understand that, wouldn't you, Merlin?"

"How do you come to that conclusion?"

"Arthur doesn't appreciate you," Coran replied, coming back around to sit across from him again. "He doesn't see what you sacrifice for him, does he? How could he? He's royalty. They're all alike, you know."

"Arthur's not," Merlin said immediately. "Arthur is different. He'll be a king worth following one day."

"Did he teach you to say that?" Coran asked sadly, shaking his head. "Did he instruct you to sing his praises if anyone dared speak ill against him?"

"No, he—"

"He brainwashed you," Coran interrupted. "I've seen it before, Merlin. He's bullied you and belittled you until you actually believe the lies he sells you."

"That's not true," Merlin snapped. "I haven't been—"

"Of course it is. If course it's true. It's sad really—the way you can't see what is right in front of you. You're expendable, Merlin. That's all you've ever been."

"Your wrong," Merlin hissed. "Arthur isn't like that. He cares about me. He—"

"Does he?" Coran asked slowly. "Are you sure?"

"I know he does," Merlin replied adamantly. "I would stake my life on it."

"I really wish you hadn't said that," Coran told him softly. "I hate to be the bearer of bad news, you see."

"What are you talking about?" Merlin asked slowly.

"I know for a fact that Arthur doesn't care about you the way you think he does," Coran whispered. "I can personally guarantee that he would abandon you if it suited him to do so."

"No," Merlin repeated, shaking his head. "I don't believe that. Arthur has always been loyal to me."

"Such blind faith," Coran said gently. "You haven't even seen the evidence yet."

"You have no evidence," Merlin told him stonily. "You have nothing I would be interested in looking at."

"Don't run before you walk," Coran warned him, rising and striding to his chest. He pulled the lid open and took a stack of parchment from the top before closing it again. "Look at these and then tell me if your prince is so loyal."

Merlin took the pieces of parchment and unfolded them, his lips quirked in a smug smile of disbelief. There was nothing written on these papers that would shake Merlin's undying faith in his friend. No words that could turn him against his prince and all that he would build. No sketches or drawings that would—Merlin froze as the words on the parchment began to sink in.

The parchment contained a letter written in the prince's untidy scrawl. Merlin would have recognized it anywhere and knew the piece of paper he held in his hands was no forgery.

_Father,_

_I am unsure of how to begin this letter of condemnation due to the relationship I share with the man who stands accused. Merlin, my servant has been remarkably loyal and, while not fit for most physical activities, he possesses a certain charm that is undeniable. He has, against all warnings you have given me, become my friend and I cherish his opinion above all others, excluding yourself. However, despite my unorthodox friendship I can no longer ignore what has been staring me in the face for some time. I am loathe to inform you of his activities because I know what your knowledge will mean for him, but I also feel that it is my duty, as your son and sole heir, to inform you of any suspicions I may have regarding the use of magic. I believe that my servant is involved with numerous members of the Druid community and that he socializes with them quite regularly. I am also inclined to believe that he has studied the Old Religion, although I cannot tell you with any certainty to what extent. I am unsure if he has practiced sorcery, but I cannot deny the possibility. _

_I understand you must do what you see fit in this situation. I cannot deny that seeing Merlin perish would sadden me greatly, but you have always taught me that duty comes before emotions. No matter how strong they are. I trust that you will make the right decision regarding Merlin's fate and you may expect no fight from me regardless of the choice you make. You are a wise and fair king and I am certain you will see that Merlin is of little danger to anyone. I trust him with my life and with the lives of those I love best, including yours. I hope that you take my feelings under advisement, but if you deem death to be the only punishment you feel capable granting I will not question your judgment. I am your loyal and loving son and hope that I can be the great king you have been._

_Your son,_

_Arthur Pendragon_

Merlin stared at the letter uncomprehendingly. He read it again and again, relentless in his need to find something he had missed that would make the letter fake or untrue, but the truth was in front of him. This was Arthur's handwriting. This was Arthur's letter. And this was Arthur's betrayal.

"Wh—where did you get this?" Merlin asked hoarsely.

"From your master's chambers," Coran answered quietly. "We were attempting to find information regarding Camelot's defenses and this was among the papers we found."

"You broke into Arthur's room?" Merlin croaked. "How?"

"We have our ways," Coran frowned. "Do you see now, Merlin? Do you see how he has lied to you?"

"There has to be an explanation for this," Merlin said. "There has to be. Arthur wouldn't…he wouldn't…" He trailed off, staring at the piece of parchment in his hands.

How long had he been holding on to this? How long had he been planning on going to his father with the information Merlin only recently discovered he knew? Had he meant what he said? Had he truly meant it when he'd written that he wouldn't fight for Merlin? Merlin would fight for Arthur. Would _always _fight for Arthur.

"You're not so sure now, are you?" Coran said sadly. "Is it true? What the letter says? Do you practice the Old Religion?"

"I—I practice magic, but—"

"Then we have something in common," Coran said earnestly. "If we rid the world of the Pendragon line we can finally be free to be who and what we want. Aren't you tired of hiding? Of fearing for your life simply because you choose to believe in something greater than yourself?"

"Yes," Merlin said softly, closing his eyes in horror even as the word slipped from between his lips. "Yes, I am tired of hiding."

"Then join us," Coran told him. "Join us and help us rid the world of Uther Pendragon and his hatred."

"I can't," Merlin rasped, shaking his head. "I can't betray Arthur."

"But he betrayed you," Coran snarled. "Or was going to. Why are you so damn loyal to him?"

"Arthur's different," Merlin repeated. "He's not his father, Coran. I promise you—"

"Don't make promises you can't keep," Coran said darkly. Then he was all smiles again and for the first time Merlin saw the madness lurking just beneath the surface of his eyes. The insanity quivering at the edges of his smile. He would have to tread carefully.

Coran pushed the bowl of steaming stew towards him, but Merlin didn't touch it. The hunger that had plagued him earlier had suddenly vanished and left him with an empty pit inside. Coran dug into his own meal with relish, as if he'd been starving for days and the bowl of stew would be both his first and last meal. Merlin felt sick and despite the thorough cleaning the bandit had done on his shoulder it ached more fiercely than before.

"Does Morgana know?" Merlin asked, watching Coran eat. "About the letter, I mean?"

"Morgana," the bandit snorted with a dismissive roll of his eyes. "She has the whole world fooled, but I see the witch for what she really is." He chewed a piece of rabbit thoughtfully before continuing. "She's the same as Uther Pendragon. Only difference is she has magic on her side. It won't be long before the world sees her for the tyrant she is."

"Then why serve her?" Merlin asked. "Why follow—"

"I don't serve anyone," Coran hissed suddenly, his eyes narrowing. Merlin flinched back, but the bandit did not touch him. "I am my own man, Merlin. Whatever else you may think of me…know that I am not governed or ruled by anyone but myself. I choose who I work with and for what purposes." His demeanor shifted back to calm and collected and Merlin was dazed at how quickly the young man changed moods.

"As for my partnership with Morgana," Coran continued, gesturing for Merlin to eat his stew. This time Merlin took a hesitant bite if only to keep his captor mentally stable for the moment. "She is just a piece in a larger puzzle. The future I have in mind goes far beyond what she is possible of envisioning. Still, she has proved useful and if she wishes to believe that she has me safely tucked away in her pocket I won't deny her that pleasure. It will make it easier for me to kill her in the end."

Merlin almost choked on his stew. Kill her? Kill Morgana? He knew he was the last person that should be throwing stones since he'd had those same thoughts only a day ago, but somehow hearing Coran talk about her death as if it were nothing more than a spider squashed beneath his boot disturbed him. He would kill Morgana if the time came, but at least he'd feel bad about it.

"You seem…displeased at the thought of her death," Coran frowned. "I would have thought that you above anyone would be glad to see her dead."

"She was my friend once," Merlin whispered. "I cared for her."

"That should make her death even more gratifying," Coran said. "A betrayal should never go unanswered, Merlin." He lifted his bowl and drained the last of his stew with a satisfied smack. "Which is why you should tell us the location of Arthur Pendragon."

So. They had finally come full circle again. Merlin was faced with the choice of betraying his best friend or being tortured for his silence. He wanted to say that the idea of outing Arthur instantly disgusted him, but he would be lying if he said he didn't feel a flash of fury at his prince over the letter. Arthur had been prepared to betray him for a moment of glory and his father's affection. It would only be fitting if he—

No, Merlin thought fiercely. Never going to happen. There was an explanation behind the letter. There had to be. His friend was more or less king now and if he had seen reason to judge Merlin for his supposed contact with Druids and study of the Old Religion there would have been no need for a letter. Arthur would have confronted him, face to face, like the man he was and would always be. No, there was an explanation and as long as that remained true than Merlin would remain loyal. Oh, who was he kidding? Even if there wasn't an explanation Merlin would remain loyal to the end. Because he believed in Arthur. Because he believed in the world his friend would create.

"I can't," Merlin said softly. "I can't tell you."

"What?" Coran gasped. It was clear from the look on his face that he hadn't expected that answer. "What do you mean you can't tell me? Why not?"

"He's my friend," Merlin explained. "No letter is going to change that."

"You're a fool," Coran snarled, throwing his empty bowl to the ground in disgust. "Why do you remain so loyal to him? Are you truly this naïve?"

"I believe in who Arthur is," Merlin told him. "One day all of this will change. We won't have to hide anymore because he'll—"

"He'll see us all dead," Coran shouted, rising angrily to his feet.

"Your wrong," Merlin insisted, realizing he was losing control of the situation. "He wouldn't do that. You don't know him like I do. You'll see…when he comes for me you'll see."

Coran stopped and stared at him for a long time. Merlin watched him uneasily and began to wonder if he'd said something he shouldn't have. There was something primal in the way the bandit looked at him that made Merlin's hair stand on end.

"When he comes for you," the bandit muttered. "When he comes for…" Coran smiled. "You think he'll come for you? Truly?"

Merlin didn't answer. What had he just done? His words had laid the foundation for some plan in Coran's insane mind, but for the life of him Merlin couldn't figure out what it would be. His own brain wasn't exactly working up to speed. So he opted to remain silent.

This turned out to be a very bad plan. Coran waited for him to answer, but when it became clear that he wasn't going to the bandit's face clouded with anger. Suddenly, Coran struck out and his fist slammed into Merlin's injured shoulder with all the force of a catapult thrown boulder. Merlin screamed and tried to jerk away, but the bandit's hands held him in a death grip, his thumb pressing steadily inwards on his wound.

"When I ask a question," Coran snarled. "You answer. Is that clear?"

"Yes," Merlin gasped breathlessly. "Gods, yes. Please—I—I'm sorry. Just—please."

Coran released him as suddenly as he'd grabbed him and Merlin slumped backwards, breathing heavily and shivering. His body was covered in sweat and he could feel fresh blood from his shoulder leaving a hot trail across his throat and down along his ribcage.

"Do you think he'll truly come for you?" Coran asked again, wiping his bloody hand on the wet cloth they'd used earlier.

"If—if he can," Merlin rasped out. "And when—when he does you'll see the—the kind of man he is. Too—too bad you'll be his enemy."

"This is perfect," Coran said, ignoring Merlin. "He'll come for you, like you said he will, and when he does we'll be ready for him."

"No," Merlin stammered. "No, you can't—you said he wouldn't come for me, remember? You didn't—you wouldn't believe me. You were right. He won't. I see my mistake now. I shouldn't have—" Merlin stopped at the look Coran gave him. He wasn't sure he could handle another round of agony at the moment.

"We'll plan for both," Coran told him. "In case Arthur doesn't show we'll make sure we rip every piece of information on Camelot and her defenses that you know out of that delightfully entertaining mind of yours. And if he does show…you can watch as I slit his throat." He put a thoughtful finger to his lips. "Or perhaps I will burn him upon a pyre. Poetically fitting, wouldn't you say?"

"No," Merlin groaned. "You can't do that. I won't let you—"

"And how do you plan on stopping me?" Coran snorted. " With your magic? Don't forget that Verbana runs through your veins. Your magic is useless to you now. Besides, you had your chance to talk, Merlin, but you decided to remain loyal to your precious Arthur. By the time I'm done pulling Arthur's secrets from your lips you won't be able to do much of anything except pray for the moment your agony ends." He smirked. "Unless you wish to do this the easy way. I like you, Merlin. I'll offer you one last chance to tell me everything you know on Arthur Pendragon and Camelot. One last chance to join me in my quest to see the world as it should be. What do you say?"

"I won't betray him," Merlin said quietly, closing his eyes as the reality of his situation truly began to set in. "Do what you like, but I won't betray Arthur."

"I wish your answer had been different," Coran told him softly, leaning down to meet his eyes. "I suppose I should applaud you for your bravery, but since I know you'll be screaming in a few moments I can't see anything but the foolishness of your decision."

"Wh-what are you g-going to d-do?" Merlin stuttered as his heart pounded with fear.

Coran did not answer him. Instead the young man walked calmly to the flap of his tent and leaned through it, beckoning to someone Merlin could not see. He tried to move, to do something other than sit there and wait to be tortured, but while his legs felt much stronger than before he knew he wouldn't be running anywhere very fast. Not fast enough, anyways. Still, he had to try and he pushed himself to his feet and stumbled towards the back of the tent, reckless with fear and adrenaline.

He hadn't made it five feet before the pain began. It drove him to his knees and Merlin cried out, curling around his stomach like Arthur had done so many hours before. It felt like something was eating him from the inside out and when he coughed, blood spattered the dirt, sinking into it and creating black dots spread out around him. Suddenly, the pain ended as quickly as it had begun. Merlin uncurled and lay gasping, tears mixing with sweat to make grimy tracks across his face.

"Try that again," Coran hissed, lowering the hand that had thrown magic only moments before. "And I'll make it last forever." He made a beckoning gesture with his hands and both Hagan and Badger entered the tent, faces split with malicious grins.

"They're ready for you, Coran," Badger said. "Nice and red…just like you wanted."

"Good," Coran said emotionlessly. "Bring him out. I want the men to see this. Tell them this is what happens when you defy me."

"Do you think he'll talk?" Hagan wheezed as he stooped down and threw Merlin roughly over his shoulder.

"They all talk," Coran said lazily. "Like I said before…its only a matter of finding the right price."

Hagan left the tent, following along behind Coran and Badger. Merlin could only make out the two other men's boots from his position over Hagan's shoulder. It didn't take them long to reach their destination and Merlin could hear the crackle of a fire near him. He was thrown roughly to the ground and before he even had a chance to get his bearings, a strong arm slid around his throat and held him in a chokehold so tight that he couldn't even swallow.

It was only then that Merlin saw what waited for him above the open flames. Only then that he realized what he'd gotten himself in to. Whatever happened after this moment there would be no walking away. Not for him. Not from this. He struggled against the man holding him, but his captors arm merely tightened and Merlin's attempts to escape were halted in their tracks.

"No," Merlin whimpered around the pressure on his throat. "Please—Coran, you can't do this. I beg you…don't do this. Please."

"So," Coran said quietly, taking tongs from his pocket and drawing his first set of torture tools from the heat of the flames. "The fear has finally begun to sink in, has it? This is good. Fear makes adrenaline, you know. And adrenaline…well, it keeps you from passing out."

The men around Merlin chuckled and Merlin whimpered again. Coran held the flaming hot pieces of metal out and away from him then nodded to someone Merlin couldn't see. Two men suddenly grabbed his arms and another two grabbed his legs, locking him in place so that he couldn't move.

"These are my pride and joy," Coran told him as he brought the items closer to him. "Some say the use of iron boots is uncivilized, but I find that they are far more efficient than slicing flesh and breaking bones. Far less messy to." He smiled. "Are you ready to know what true agony is, Merlin? Are you ready to see how far your loyalty to your precious Arthur will go?"

Merlin would have answered yes. He would have told Coran to be damned, but by the time the thoughts made it from his mind to his lips, the bandit was slipping the flaming red shoes over Merlin's bare feet.

At first, there were no screams. His nerves hadn't quite figured out what was happening to them, but seconds later the sound of his burning flesh reached his ears and any pain his body might have blocked out surged through his defenses. He understood then. He understood what true agony was…just like Coran said he would. There were no words for his pain, no human way to explain what he felt in that moment.

There were only his screams. And his tears. And finally, after what felt like an eternity of flames, his darkness.


	8. It's So Overt, It's Covert

**Author's Note: **_I am going to try for another chapter on top of this one today. I hope you like my character. She's going to be a pretty integral part of this story…at least for the rest of it. I can promise that the story will be pretty long, but I haven't decided if I am going to make it a reveal story as of yet. I have already done one of those and am kind of leaning towards something else here. Anyways, sorry for the intense Merlin whump last chapter. I promise it isn't as visually bad from here on out. Still whump, of course, but nothing like last chapter. Please let me know what you think because OC's have always been a matter of pride for me. So…REVIEW!_ _P.S.—the raid mentioned in this chapter is the same raid that is talked about in Season 4 when Elyan gets possessed. _

Amara pat the lump of gold in her pocket and grinned. She'd done well that day and she knew Ryker would be pleased with her. Her job was simple, but it required finesse and technique. Patience and adaptation. Camelot had always been a perfect place to practice her skills, but recently she'd been given another task. It had felt nice to return to what she knew, what she was good at. It felt good to rob the high and mighty nobles of Camelot dry.

Normally, Ryker would have joined her and together they would have picked every pocket clean of their valuables without anyone even realizing what had happened to them. The young thief had taught Amara everything she knew and when the two of them were together the sinful act of thieving turned into a work of art.

But, Ryker wasn't with her that day. He'd sent her off to work her charms and had remained at the camp for some unknown, confidential reason. She knew instinctively that it was something bad, something Ryker didn't agree with. He was a good man despite his chosen profession, but the bandits they camped with were anything but. Amara didn't think she'd ever seen Ryker's face that dark in the six years she'd been his apprentice. No, there was something going on at camp that Ryker didn't want her to be a part of. Something he didn't want her to see.

Amara frowned. He didn't normally hide things from her. He'd always taught her that a partnership was based on trust and had been open with her about almost anything. A thief had to have faith in her partner because if she didn't they would both get caught. She trusted Ryker, loved him even, but it worried her that he was hiding from her. She trusted his instincts above her own, but sometimes she wondered if the young man was in over his head and hadn't realized it yet.

The bandit crew they had decided to camp with almost six months ago was a cruel and vicious bunch. They terrified Amara and though Ryker tried to sooth her fears he could never make the worry fade entirely. She hated the way they looked at her, like she was a piece of meat to devour. She knew she was an attractive girl, small for her seventeen years, but with generous curves and expressive eyes. Ryker had taught her to use her beauty to her advantage and would buy her pretty dresses as gifts for her to wear. She never wore them anymore. She didn't like the reaction she received when she did.

Ryker would never let anything happen to her if he could help it, but he wasn't much older than her and he wasn't much of a fighter. He was an excellent marksman, better than that horrible Hagan even, but he had never made his skill with the bow known to the bandits they camped with. He wasn't a murderer, he'd said in explanation. He wouldn't allow his skills to be used for the purpose of blood shed, wouldn't let Coran turn him into something he wasn't.

Coran. The name sent shivers up Amara's spine. She hated the leader of their bandit crew with more passion than she had ever hated anyone in her whole life. Even more than Arthur Pendragon and his vicious father who had taken everything from her when she was only a child. Ryker said that Coran wasn't entirely right in the head and Amara believed him. His temper was unlike anything Amara had ever seen and he changed moods quicker than she could keep up. She dreaded having to report to him and never allowed herself to show up empty handed.

For reasons unknown to her Coran had decided to give her a different task than what she was used to. Instead of using her skills for thievery she would use her ability to remain unseen to spy on the young prince Arthur. Ryker had immediately tried to change Coran's mind, but the bandit leader would have none of it. She would have to do the job he required of her or else they would be forced to leave the bandits camp. Ryker's face had paled at that and he'd quickly backed down. Amara wondered why that thought scared him so much, but she never dared ask. She was always terrified of what his answer would be.

So, for the better part of three months, Amara had been keeping track of the prince. His days were far too boring for her taste, but there was little she could do to change that. She couldn't abandon Ryker and let him face Coran's wrath alone so she would just have deal with her boredom. Besides, sometimes it wasn't so bad. She thought Prince Arthur's servant was funny and he seemed to be much nicer than his master. She'd bumped into him once and he'd made her laugh like Ryker did. She liked Merlin and it saddened her that he had to serve a man like Arthur Pendragon when he was more of a prince than the royal could ever hope to be.

Despite her hatred for Arthur and his father, Amara couldn't help but feel ashamed as she reported her findings to Coran. She didn't like the look on the bandit's face when she told him what she knew. Nor did she like the way he pushed her for more each time she returned. Ryker had almost come to blows with Coran when he'd demanded she break into Arthur's chambers and bring back whatever she could find. She had managed to calm Ryker down and had accepted the job despite her better judgment. Breaking in had been a challenge, but she'd done it. Amara had considered bringing Arthur's chamber pot back to Coran and telling him she'd done what he'd asked, she'd brought him what she could find. She had thought better of it, however, and had searched the prince's room as thoroughly as she could. For Ryker's sake. She hadn't found much. A few stacks of parchment and a silly book she couldn't read.

Even though Amara's findings had been light Coran had seemed pleased, only adding to her unease. She didn't like Arthur, but she didn't necessarily wish him dead. She wondered why she felt such concern for him. He was the man who had raided her village when she was a child, the man who had ordered the slaughter of her people because of what they were. She'd seen him as she held tight to the mother who looked out at the world with sightless eyes. She'd clutched her father's hand, already beginning to cool, and watched the young prince. He seemed dazed, unsure of what he was doing or why. His eyes were big and round and he looked around him with what looked like horror…and possibly regret. She remembered that he was spattered with blood that did not belong to him. He had looked so young in that moment, so lost and unsure. But still she hated him. Hated him as he'd met her eyes and looked away in shame. Hated him for hating what he did not understand. Hated him for taking her family away from her.

She had been the only one of her people left living. She had hidden between her mother and father, trying to play dead as the soldiers passed. She doubted she had fooled anyone because she had been crying the whole time. Ryker had found her there, hours later. He had only been a boy of thirteen at the time, but he had promised to take care of her. And he had. He had taught her everything he knew about being a pick-pocket, about being a thief.

Still, Amara didn't know why she worried about the fate of Arthur, but she did. She told herself that it was because she liked Merlin and she knew that wherever the prince went his servant would be beside him. If Arthur were to die the young man would die trying to protect him.

Amara sighed and looked up at the giant oak trees fanned out above her. She was lying in a green patch of grass and dreading the moment she knew she would have to return to camp. She wanted to stay out in the woods forever, but Ryker would begin to worry about her if she wasn't home soon. Besides, she was flushed with the haul she'd stolen that day and couldn't wait to show him. The smile that quirked his lips, spreading light and warmth across his handsome face, was only for her and it sent shivers up her spine that were nothing like she'd ever felt before. It didn't matter that something bad might be waiting for her back at camp. As long as Ryker was by her side, Amara could face anything.

Singing, raucous and loud, suddenly split the forest din and Amara jumped. She heard footsteps and the unmistakable swish of a sword as it cut through foliage with ease. Amara knew they could not see her, hidden away in her grove of trees, but still she held her breath. Ryker had taught her to be cautious of anything and anyone in the Darkling Woods.

"Gwain," a young voice hissed. "Do you want the whole damn forest to know we're coming?"

Amara froze. She knew that voice. She'd been forced to listen to it for almost three months straight. Her heart stuttered and she tried to remain calm as she peered over the little bush that kept her hidden. Even though she had been prepared for it the sight of Arthur Pendragon standing only four feet from her made her jump. She wasn't entirely sure what happened after that. One moment she had been safely hidden behind the holly bush and the next moment she was sprawled out on the forest floor with Arthur and his entire band of knights staring down at her.

Amara stared back at the root that had tripped her incredulously. She couldn't remember the last time she had tripped. She was a thief and a thief had to be light on their feet. Her cheeks reddened and she thanked the gods Ryker wasn't here to witness her moment of clumsiness. He would have laughed himself silly and Amara would have never lived it down. She nearly smiled at the thought of his chuckles, but then she remembered who was gazing down at her and any amusement disappeared in an instant.

"Who are you?" Arthur asked sharply, pulling her to her feet. His voice was harsh, but his hands were gentle.

"I'm—I'm." Amara closed her eyes, desperately trying to remember the thousand cover stories Ryker had given her to use if she were ever questioned, but they wouldn't come.

"She's a druid," the knight she knew as Elyan said softly. "Look at the charms around her neck, sire."

Amara glanced at him in surprise. How did a knight of Camelot know of the Druidic charms? True, the knights of Camelot weren't entirely orthodox, but it still seemed strange for them to have any knowledge of the magical world at all.

"A Druid," Arthur whispered, bringing Amara's attention back to him. The expression on his face was contemplating, calculating even and Amara didn't like it at all.

"You stay away from me," Amara hissed, stepping back. "I know what you do to my people, Arthur Pendragon."

Arthur frowned, opened his mouth as if to say something, then closed it again. He looked away from her, eyes clouded with something akin to shame. Amara wasn't sure how to respond the prince's reaction to her words. It wasn't possible that the prince of Camelot, arrogant and relentless in his quest to destroy those with magic, could possibly feel regret for his actions. Could it?

"I have no quarrel with your people," he said finally, looking back at her. "I never have. My father—well, it doesn't really matter, does it? I have done what he asked of me without question even though I knew it was wrong. That makes me no better…worse even."

"What are you doing out here?" Amara asked cautiously. "Not many folks in the Darkling woods are big fans of the Pendragon family line."

For some odd reason this drew a bitter smile from him. It was only then that Amara really glanced at him, really studied his features. He was a handsome man, true enough, but today he looked haggard and ragged. His skin was pale and his hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat. There was blood on the right side of his tunic. A lot of blood. Though his eyes were clear and commanding they were pinched with worry and exhaustion.

"I'm looking for someone," the prince told her. "Someone important to me."

"Who?"

"My servant," Arthur sighed. "Me—"

"Merlin's missing?" Amara blurted, blushing furiously when the prince looked at her in surprise.

"You know my servant?" Arthur asked incredulously. "You know Merlin?"

"I know of him," Amara said quickly. "Everyone knows of Merlin…my lord."

"Everyone," Arthur repeated. "Everyone? Or just Druids?"

Amara didn't answer. What was she supposed to say? If she told the prince that Merlin was involved with Druids it could mean the death of the young man. And if she told the prince how she really knew Merlin it could mean the death of her. If the prince noticed her silence he didn't show it. Instead he remained thoughtful and pensive.

"Have you seen him?" Arthur asked finally.

"Not—not recently."

"No," Arthur said bitterly. "That would make things too easy, wouldn't it?"

"Sire," Amara ventured, feeling worry for a man she barely knew fluttering through her gut. "Is Merlin in danger?"

"I think so," Arthur replied quietly. "We were attacked last night by a group of bandits." Amara looked up at him sharply. "I was injured and he…I think he…" Arthur's voice broke and he looked surprised at the emotion. He gathered himself then tried again. "I think the idiot got himself caught."

"He's not an idiot," Amara said coldly.

"No," Arthur murmured, glancing at her. "He's not, is he?"

Amara watched his face crumple and she felt a flare of pity in her stomach. Being a prince seemed like such a lonely life to her and though Arthur didn't always treat Merlin very nicely she knew they were friends. Possibly the only real friend the prince had. She frowned and looked away from him. What would Coran say if he knew she was talking to the man he so desperately wanted to kill? What would Coran do if—

Amara's heart stopped. Coran. Ryker had sent her away from the camp because there had been something he hadn't wanted her to see. Something horrible. Arthur said he'd been attacked by bandits the night before and she knew that Coran and his men had gone on a raid that same night. What if—oh gods, what if—

Arthur must have seen something in her expression because he put a hand on her shoulder. "Are you alright?"

"Fine," Amara said shrilly, stepping out of his reach. "I need to get home. I hope you find your friend."

Before Arthur could even open his mouth to reply Amara was gone, lost in the shadow of the woods. He could try and follow her, but as fast as the prince was she would always be faster. She could hear him calling after her, hear them all calling after her, but she ignored them. She prayed to the gods that she was wrong, that Merlin hadn't been caught in one of Coran's traps. Amara knew the bandit had a knack for torture. She'd never seen it, but she knew. She'd heard the stories from some of the other men. Even Ryker seemed afraid of him and Ryker wasn't afraid of anything.

Coran hated Prince Arthur with a passion. She didn't even know why he despised the young man so much. He had magic, true, but as far as she knew he'd never been touched by the spiteful, hating spirit that was Uther Pendragon. Still, Coran had made it his life mission to kill the king's son and would do anything to see his goal turn into success. Catching a servant of the royal household would be like pure gold to a man like Coran. Catching Merlin? The one man who knew more about the prince than anyone else, the man the prince confided in? That was worth more than all the riches in the world.

She dodged through trees and rocks, jumped creek beds and splashed through streams. The whole time she felt like she was going to throw up. Perhaps Merlin hadn't been caught at all. Or, if he had been caught, perhaps he'd escaped. Or maybe he had been caught by some other bandit crew. Someone other than Coran. She found herself mouthing a prayer over and over again. She didn't know why she cared for the young servant so much. It wasn't like she really even knew him, but for reasons unknown to her, she felt it was imperative to keep him safe. Like her life and the lives of those she cared about were connected to his fate.

When she reached the edge of the camp she found Ryker sitting against an old elm tree, face in his hands. He looked up at the sound of her footsteps, paling as he recognized her.

"Amara," he said, jumping to his feet. "You were supposed to be in Camelot, little bird. I told you not to come back today. I told you to stay far away from here."

"I was going to," Amara began. "I was resting in the woods and then—"

A heart-wrenching scream rent the air and Amara flinched. Ryker closed his eyes in horror and looked like he was about to be sick. The scream choked off suddenly, but Amara could still hear the pained gurgle of someone near by. Moments later the oily, cold remnants of black magic reached her and she could feel its power pressing against her skin. It held the echoes of a great pain and stung her flesh. She gasped, wincing, and pressed herself into Ryker's side.

"What's happening?" she asked. "Ryker, I met Prince Arthur in the woods and—"

"What?" Ryker hissed, pulling her back from him to stare at her. "Prince Arthur is alive? You saw him?"

"Yes," Amara whispered. "I saw him, Ryker. He said that his servant, Merlin, was missing. He said he thought he'd been caught by bandits." She swallowed. "Who was that screaming?"

Ryker looked away from her and did not answer.

"Ryker," she said again, her voice harsh and demanding. "Who was it?"

"The servant," Ryker said softly. "Arthur's servant. Coran has him."

Both of them flinched when another scream of agony tore through the forest. Amara paled and leaned against her friend, shivering.

"How long has this been going on?" Amara asked quietly.

"Hours," Ryker rasped. "He passed out earlier, but they started again when he woke up." He swallowed past the lump in his throat. "Can you feel it, little bird? The magic Coran is using? Its—its wrong. Magic shouldn't be used like this…not for pain and suffering."

"Someone has to stop him," Amara snarled as Merlin screamed again. "Someone has to do something, Ryker."

"What are we supposed to do?" Ryker croaked. "Tell me that, little bird. If you have the answer then give it to me because I have no idea what I'm supposed to do."

"I don't know," Amara said in frustration. "Something…anything. We stand up to him."

"We can't," Ryker whispered. "We can't raise a hand against him, little bird."

"Why not?"

"He'll kill us, love. He'll kill you. I can't take that risk."

"How do you know he'd kill me, Ryker? How do you know he'd be able to kill you? You're the best marksman I've ever seen. You could just shoot him with an arrow and—"

"No," Ryker said harshly. "I can't touch him, Amara. And neither can you. He knows I don't agree with his methods, don't agree with him as a man. He's taken steps to ensure my loyalty to him."

"What steps?"

"He's ensured that my one weakness is tied to him," Ryker whispered sadly. "If he dies…or we try to leave then…" He trailed off and closed his eyes.

"Then what? What happens, Ryker? What has you so afraid of him? What's your weakness?"

"Don't you know?" Ryker said with a small smile.

"Would I be asking if I did?"

"It's you," Ryker told her quietly. "It's always been you, little bird. I promised to protect you, to love you." He shook his head. "It seems I've kept my promise."

Amara stared at him, at a loss for words. What was he saying? Was he saying he loved her like a sister or a daughter? Or…was it more than that? Did Ryker finally just admit that he loved her like she'd always loved him? More importantly, how could her life be tied to Coran's? It didn't make any sense. She'd never heard of a spell that could do such a thing, but she couldn't rule it out. One could do almost anything with magic…as long as they had the power.

"Why would he do that?" Amara asked slowly. "Why would he care about us at all, Ryker?"

"How am I supposed to know," Ryker laughed bitterly. "I never understand why he does what he does, Amara. But there is always a reason. I would have taken you away from here ages ago if I could, but…but I can't." He looked at her pleadingly. "Do you understand why I can't do anything, Amara? Do you know how I would feel if something happened to you?"

"I don't care," Amara said after a moment. "I love you, Ryker, but this is wrong. We can't let him do this."

"Did you hear what I said?" Ryker snapped. "If you or I turn against him it means your life! I won't take that risk, little bird. Not for a man I don't even know."

"Fine," Amara whispered. "If you won't take it…then I will." She walked past him, looking anywhere but at his face. He tried to grab her arm, but Amara slipped through his fingers.

"Amara," he called after her. "Amara, stop this. You can't just—"

"Ryker," Amara said firmly. "I'm doing this. You can try to stop me if you want, but I can't sit by and let this happen."

Ryker's face darkened and for a moment Amara wondered if he would do what she'd dared him to. Then, as if snuffing out a flame, all the fight went out of him and his shoulders slumped in defeat.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked her. "You don't even know this man, Amara. He isn't even your friend. Just tell me why you are willing to risk everything for him."

"He's a good man, Ryker," Amara whispered, taking his hands. "An honorable man."

"You've met him once," Ryker snorted.

"That's just it," Amara replied slowly. "I only had to meet him once, Ryker. Its strange, but that is all it takes to know what kind of man Merlin is. It's…it's in his eyes."

Merlin screamed again and Ryker pulled his hands from hers. The sound was wearing on him. The servant's pain was palpable and Ryker, for all his posturing, knew it was wrong to sit there and do nothing.

"We have to have a plan," Ryker sighed finally. "We can't go in there with no leg to stand on, little bird. Coran would kill us and that man would still be at his mercy."

"Alright," Amara agreed. "What do we do?"

"Why do I have to think of something?"

"Because you _always _think of something," Amara snorted.

"Right," Ryker whispered with a small smile. "How to convince Coran from torturing the one man who can actually give him answers. This should be easy. No problem at all."

"Unless," Amara whispered, an idea forming in her head. "Unless we don't stop him at all, Ryker."

"What? How does that work exactly? We stop him by not stopping him? I love you, little bird, but I fail to see the genius in that plan."

"That's because you haven't listened to all of it yet, Ryker."

"Go on then."

"We know Prince Arthur is alive and is looking for his servant, right?"

"Right," Ryker said slowly with a slight frown.

"What if we somehow led Arthur here?" Amara whispered. "By accident, of course. Or—"

"Or we could pull a Trojan Horse," Ryker said suddenly, grinning ferociously.

"What?"

"Have you ever heard of the Trojan Horse, Amara?"

"No."

"Ach," Ryker said, hitting a hand against his forehead. "I've failed you, little bird. The Trojan Horse is only one of the most ingenious cons of our world. Let me set the picture for you. Troy and Greece were fighting with one another and had been going at it like mad for ten years straight. The Greeks were damned tired of fighting, but couldn't get past the Trojan wall. So what did they do? They constructed a giant horse that was hollow on the inside and put ten or twelve men inside. The Greeks pretended to sail away and the Trojans pulled the horse into their city as a war trophy. Of course, when night came the men snuck out of the horse and opened the gates for the rest of the Greek forces that had sailed back under the cover of night. The Greeks destroy the city and win the war."

"So," Amara said slowly, trying to ignore a harsh cry of agony from somewhere in the camp. "You're saying we build a giant horse and—"

"Don't be silly," Ryker frowned. "Of course, we aren't going to build a horse. You're missing the entire point, little bird. The Trojan Horse is what started it all, but now it's a common play among thieves. A mark is somehow convinced to invite an enemy into their camp. In this case, we 'catch' Arthur Pendragon."

"Only, he won't really be caught," Amara said, catching on. "He'll be there because he wants to be there."

"Exactly," Ryker told her with a gleeful smile. "His knights are with him?"

"Yes."

"Good. We'll need them for this plan to work. We'll have to station them around the camp. When the time is right we'll give them a signal and the attack will begin."

"Coran would know it was us," Amara said. "We'd be the only ones who would defy him."

"That's why we convince him otherwise," Ryker said slowly. "We can't be the ones who catch Arthur. It will have to be Hagan or Badger."

"What if they kill him before he gets here?" Amara said.

"They wouldn't dare," Ryker told her darkly. "Coran would slit their throats for even thinking about it. Arthur is his kill. Everyone knows that."

"What about me?" Amara asked.

"You're going to offer to help Coran," Ryker said.

"What?" Amara yelped. "Ryker, I won't do that. I can't."

"Hear me out," Ryker said. "You won't hurt the lad, little bird. You won't have to. I can promise you that, but you'll have to be more convincing than you ever have been in your entire life."

"What are you thinking?"

"You have to convince Coran that you want to help," Ryker explained. "Not torture him, of course. Coran has already taken care of that. You have to convince him to let you play the good guy. In a situation like Merlin's kindness goes a long ways. Make Coran see the truth in that. Get him to let you try and break him with compassion…like your on Merlin's side, but are really playing off his weaknesses to get what you want."

"How am I supposed to do that?" Amara asked. "Coran isn't stupid, Ryker."

"Every man is stupid when a beautiful woman is involved," Ryker said quietly, cheeks flushing.

"Are you calling me beautiful?" Amara whispered. "Ryker, I—"

Merlin groaned loudly, the sound harsh and wet in his throat and Amara winced. There would be time for romance later. She had to keep her mind on the plan at hand. There was too much at stake to be distracted.

"Coran is attracted to you," Ryker spat, his eyes hard and flat. "Use that against him, Amara. You know how…I've seen you do it before."

"Alright," Amara whispered. "But, if I'm here then who is going to convince Arthur of our plan?"

"I will," Ryker told her. "It will have to be me."

"You don't know where he is," Amara began, but stopped when Ryker pressed a finger to her lips.

"Which is why you are going to tell me," he whispered. "Where did you last see him?"

"Just outside of my grove," she told him. "You know the one."

"I do," Ryker said with a smile. "I'll track him and we can come up with a plan from there."

"He won't trust you," Amara said, taking off her charms. "Give him these. He's already seen them. Maybe he'll believe you if you tell him I sent you."

Ryker nodded and took the charms from her hand, slipping it around his throat. "Amara, are you sure you want to do this? To take this risk? For Arthur Pendragon?"

"I'm not doing it for Arthur," she told him quietly. "I'm doing it for his servant."

"I don't understand," Ryker whispered. "Why do you care so much?"

"I don't know," Amara replied. "It's strange, but something tells me I should. It feels right, Ryker. I don't know how else to explain it to you."

"A sign from the gods," Ryker said murmured.

"What?"

"Something my mother used to tell me," Ryker answered. "She used to say that feelings of right and wrong were signs from the gods."

"Maybe she's right," Amara said softly.

"Maybe."

"Ryker?"

"Yes?"

"Be safe."

"You to, little bird. And remember what I've always taught you."

"Never rush your mark," Amara said with a knowing smile. "A thief may be quick, but its his patience that brings the biggest reward."

"Exactly," Ryker whispered, hugging her close.

He released her and tucked a strand of her black hair behind her ear. It looked like he wanted to say something else, do something else, but he stopped himself from doing it. Instead, he shook his head and released her and walked purposefully to the edges of the wild forest.

Amara watched him go for a moment then turned her back to him, taking a deep breath before venturing into the wolf's den.

"Bloody hell," she heard Ryker snarl. "What the hell am I doing?"

She looked back just in time for him to wrap his strong arms around her waist and pull her close. She could feel the heat of him, the strength in his arms and it left her breathless.

"Ryker," she began. "What are you doing?"

"What I should have done ages ago," he growled, before lowering his lips to hers and pulling her tight against him in a passionate kiss.

She felt his lips moving against hers and a flood of warmth spread through her. She had been waiting for this for ages it seemed. Now that it was happening she could scarcely believe it. Finally he pulled back, his breath coming in pants. He put his forehead against hers and grinned.

"I thought I should do that at least once," he said huskily. "Just in case."

"Just in case of what?" Amara panted.

"Nothing," Ryker said immediately, releasing her again. "Nothing at all, little bird."

"Ryker," Amara began, but her words were cut off by another cry of pain. Ryker looked at her sadly and pulled away.

"Help him if you can," he told her quietly. "And little bird?"

"Yes?"

"I love you."

"I love you to," she said breathlessly. "Come back safe."

Ryker smiled and turned back to the woods. She watched him disappear from her sight and felt tears prick her eyes. She had always loved him even if it hadn't always been like this. The flame in her belly that wouldn't go away, but instead of burning her it brought her warmth the likes of which she'd never known. And now, after he'd finally admitted he felt the same, he was walking away from her. Possibly forever.

If he died…Amara wouldn't know what to do. Despite knowing that saving Merlin was the right thing to do she couldn't help but wonder if it was worth losing Ryker. She just had to hope that he would remain safe, that the gods would look after him. That he wouldn't be making the ultimate sacrifice. For her. For Merlin. And for a prince he didn't know and didn't deserve his gift.

After all, her father had told her that sacrifice was not something to do lightly. It was meant for those who loved you best and those you loved best. Because sacrifice was everlasting. Sacrifice was forever.


	9. Schadenfreude

**Author's Note: **_Okay, I promised two chapters today and I meant it. Here is the next chapter for your reading enjoyment. Hopefully I got the pacing right and it all works okay for you. A lot of Merlin whump in this chapter, folks. His ordeal is no where near over with, but I can assure you that after this chapter there will be no more torture. At least…not new torture. Next chapter will have a small replay of events that happen in this chapter but from a different point of view. Anyways, please REVIEW this chapter AND last chapter because I have low writing self-esteem._

Heat. Unbearable heat relentless in its quest to scorch the flesh from Merlin's bones and boil the blood in his veins. And pain. Pain the likes of which Merlin had never felt before and hoped to never feel again. It was the type of pain that leaves men screaming, but Merlin couldn't scream. He couldn't even cry. He was just too damn tired.

He could feel the agonizing heat move up his legs, but his feet were far past feeling anything anymore. They lay beneath him, two giant lumps of dead and blackened flesh that were useless to him now. He would never run or walk again. He knew this instinctually and was surprised to discover how unattached he seemed to his lower appendages. Perhaps, if he lived through his ordeal, he would be more inclined to grieve for his lost ability to walk, but for the moment he was content with the pounding of his beating heart and the irregular, but strong gush of air he managed to take into his lungs. Besides, if Arthur were to be believed Merlin had never really learned to walk like a normal person to begin with.

A face loomed over his and Merlin shrunk back against the table he'd been lashed to. It was a face that would haunt his dreams for the rest of his life. His longevity seemed to be in question at the moment so there was no telling exactly how long that would be. Merlin wasn't sure he wanted to live much longer anyways. He was weakening and it took everything he had not to spill Arthur's secrets like seeds of treachery upon the dirt.

"Your fortitude is remarkable," Coran remarked, pushing Merlin's sweat drenched hair back from his forehead. "I have to admit that I am impressed."

"Try living with Arthur for five years," Merlin rasped. "You'd have fortitude to."

"Tell me about that," Coran smiled. "Living with Arthur, I mean."

Merlin bit his lip and prepared himself. He didn't have to wait long. Coran snapped a word and Merlin's back arched off the table as magic coursed through him. It felt like the power running through him was ripping him to pieces from the inside out. He heard himself scream, but he felt apart from the sound somehow. He instinctually knew he was doing it, but it was no longer apart of him. No longer his voice, but someone else entirely. The man he was, the man he had been, had left ages ago. There was only determination to keep silent now…determination and pain.

He coughed once and blood from someplace inside him splattered the wooden table and the dirt. He tried to clear his airways, but Coran wouldn't release him, wouldn't let him take the breath he so desperately needed. It was only when the bandit heard him choking that he stopped the power flowing through him. Merlin spat the blood from his mouth as best he could, but he could still taste it on his lips, hot and metallic. He slumped back and tried to breathe evenly, in through his nose and out through his mouth. He could feel himself shivering uncontrollably and he tried to stop, but his tremors would not be denied. He was drenched with sweat, but he wasn't sure if this was more from his exertions or the Verbana slowly poisoning him.

Merlin doubted Coran knew the effect the Verbana was having on him. The bandit didn't know that the warlock he was currently tormenting was the very essence of magic, didn't know that the forces of the earth and heavens ran through his veins as thoroughly as blood and oxygen. He could feel the weed draining him of magic and, for Merlin, magic was life. He knew that if the plant's effects did not wear off soon it would kill him. Although, if he had a choice between dying of that and dying at the hands of Coran, he would choose Verbana any day of the week.

"My patience is growing thin," Coran hissed above him, bringing Merlin back to the present. His unpleasant, painful present. "You _will_ tell me something useful, boy. There will be no peace for you until you do."

"I've—never—never been big on—on peace," Merlin stammered out. "You can take—take your peace and—" He swallowed and the breath he took was harsh in his throat. "And—and shove it up your—"

He never got the chance to finish his insult. Coran's eyes darkened in fury and he pulled the ropes crisscrossing over Merlin's legs tight against him. The rough strands of the rope cut through his burned flesh with ease and Merlin's world went white with pain. He could feel his eyelids fluttering, feel himself slipping into darkness, but Coran wasn't going to make it that easy for him. The bandit slammed Merlin's head against the table, hard enough to hurt but not enough to knock him out. The pain in his skull brought him back to consciousness. Nausea slammed into him and he barely managed to lean over the side of the table before he threw up the small amount of rabbit stew he'd ingested earlier.

"Stop," he heard himself rasp out, disgusted by the helplessness in his voice. The weakness. He was breaking. "Please…stop."

"You know how to make it stop," Coran hissed at him. "You know what I need to hear to make the pain go away. All you have to do is—"

"Coran," a voice called. A woman's voice. "Coran, stop."

Coran's head snapped to the side and Merlin's eyes followed him. A woman stood before him, hazel eyes hard and cold. She kept a knapsack tucked beneath her arms, cradling it like it was a child. She was only slightly younger than he was, beautiful and strong. Her raven hair was pulled back in a braid that fell gracefully down her back. Her skin was honey gold, tanned from the sun, and her lips held the soft creases that told Merlin she smiled a lot. But she wasn't smiling now. Not at him, anyways. She was glaring at him in pure hatred and Merlin felt the tiny glimmer of hope in his chest crumble like so much glass.

"You have something to say, Amara?" Coran asked, his voice dangerously low. "Something you would like to share with me?"

"Yes," the girl said haughtily, jutting her hip out. "He needs a break. You'll never get anything out of him if you keep going the way you are. You'll kill him first."

"Is that so?" Coran asked quietly, studying Amara intensely. "What makes you say that?"

"Look at him," Amara snorted. "He's on the brink already. Let me give him some water, Coran. Some rest."

"And why would I allow that?" Coran hissed. "Why should I allow you anywhere near him, Amara? I am no fool, girl. I can see you pity him."

"Yes," Amara said honestly. "I pity the man, Coran. Only a person without a heart would be without pity." She stepped closer to him, twirling a loose strand of hair around her finger. "Please let him rest. For me. I can't stand to hear his screams anymore."

"You have a gentle heart," Coran said, grinning his crocodile smile. "But, I am afraid that allowing him time to recuperate would be counterproductive, my dear."

"Not necessarily," Amara whispered, looking up at the bandit from beneath her long lashes. "Sometimes kindness is an even greater motivator than pain, you know."

Coran frowned and Amara stepped close to him, standing on her tiptoes to whisper in the bandit's ear. He was listening intently and when Amara stepped back he was smiling. The look on the girl's face was coy, but there was a shadow in her eyes that gave Merlin pause. He doubted Coran had caught it, but it was there. An almost imperceptible sparkle, sly and calculating.

"Very well," Coran said loudly, grabbing her hands and kissing them. "You've convinced me, my dear. I'll give you an hour to work your magic. Do not disappoint me, Amara. I would hate to return and find that your…ministrations…have proved unsuccessful."

"Don't worry," Amara said playfully, resting her hand against Coran's arm. "I have a woman's touch."

Merlin shrunk back as Coran turned back to him. Coran laughed at his display of fear, but did nothing more than pat his cheek before walking away, whistling some tune Merlin had heard in a tavern somewhere. Perhaps Gwain had sung it once. The girl watched him go with an unreadable expression then turned back to Merlin, her eyes roaming over his shivering form with unmistakable sadness.

"What has he done to you?" she whispered softly, moving close to him.

"What—what trick is this?" Merlin rasped out. "I'm not—I won't—" Merlin's legs throbbed and he broke off with a hiss of pain.

"Shhh," Amara whispered. "Quiet now. You'll be all right. I'm not going to hurt you, Merlin. I'm going to help you."

"Like—like hell you will," Merlin rasped, shivering even as she made her way down the table to his feet. "You…you and Coran—planning something."

"Believe that if you must," Amara told him, pulling her knapsack from around her shoulders. She dug through it for a moment then pulled a container from its depths. She opened it with deft hands and the smell of Witch Hazel and Marigold filled Merlin's nose. He knew the two herbs were good for burns, but he doubted they would help him now. It had been too long and he'd been burned too badly.

This didn't seem to stop Amara from wanting to try though. She smeared the paste over her hands and blew on them to cool the mixture. Her hands moved towards his legs and Merlin hissed in a breath. She looked up at him, confused and uncertain.

"Don't," Merlin begged her. "Just—just leave them—leave them be."

"It will hurt for a moment," Amara told him gently. "But, it will feel better after. I promise, Merlin. You need to let me do this."

He glanced pointedly at the ropes holding him to the table and said, "It doesn't look like—like I have much of a choice, does—does it?"

Amara smiled sadly at him before returning her concentration to his charred skin. The girl was pale as she studied the damage the iron boots had wrought upon his flesh, but her jaw was set in determination, lips pressed together in a fierce line. Slowly, she pressed her hands with the paste to Merlin's burns and it took everything he had not to cry out. Tears pricked his eyes and rolled down his cheeks as she gently rubbed his skin in circles. The pain became blinding and for a moment Merlin thought he was going to black out, but seconds before he did the rhythm in her hands changed. He could feel power in her palms, magic. Not much, but enough to lend the herbs she was using to sooth him a helping hand. The pain eased and Merlin let out a sigh of relief, releasing tension in muscles he didn't even know he had.

"You're a Druid?" he asked after a moment, closing his eyes as the herbs went to work.

"Yes," Amara replied softly. "Or…I was."

"You were born a druid?"

"Yes."

"Then you still are a Druid," Merlin whispered. "You can't change what you are. Believe me, I know that better than anyone."

"You're Prince Arthur's servant," Amara said, ignoring what he'd said. It wasn't a question, but a statement.

"Yes," Merlin replied, opening his eyes to study her warily. "Do you hate him to then?"

"Yes," Amara said honestly. "But I don't hate you. I think you would be a better king, you know."

Merlin wasn't sure what to say to that so he kept his mouth shut. He was becoming good at that lately. It seemed every way he turned there was someone that wanted to say something profound, something so life changing that the only response he could come up with was no response at all. Besides, despite the relief the herbs had brought him he could still feel the Verbana cutting through him like a razor. It wouldn't be long before it sucked every drop of life from him. He was going to die there, strapped to a table, sweating and shaking, with nobody to comfort him.

"He's alive," Amara told him suddenly. "Arthur, I mean. He's alive."

"What?" Merlin gasped, looking at her sharply.

"Arthur is alive," the girl whispered. "He's with his knights."

"You've seen him?" Merlin asked desperately. "Was he alright?"

"Tired," Amara answered. "But, he seemed fine."

"Thank the gods," Merlin said, smiling weakly. "I thought—I thought he was—" He grimaced as his body seized up, trying to fight against the magical hold of the Verbana. He lost time for a minute, but he could feel Amara's small hand clasped tightly with his own and the gentle sound of her voice calling him back. When his muscles finally relaxed he was shaking harder than ever and Amara rested a hand against his head. Her fingers felt cool and Merlin leaned into them.

"You're burning up," Amara remarked, her voice low with worry.

"That's okay," Merlin rasped. "My body is just jealous of my feet, you see? It wants part of the action."

"How can you joke at a time like this?" Amara asked, smiling despite herself.

"Mmmmm," Merlin groaned. "Its my specialty, my lady. It drives Arthur crazy that I'm so optimistic. And anything that drives Arthur crazy is something I make sure I excel at."

"Why do you serve him?" Amara asked him, pulling Yarrow leaves from her pack. "He's not a good man, Merlin."

"Why?" Merlin rasped. "Because he's made mistakes? What man hasn't?"

"His mistakes tend to cost people their lives," Amara said stubbornly. She handed him the Yarrow. "Chew that. And it's more than his mistakes. It's his hatred for forces he doesn't understand."

She helped him sit up enough to wash the Yarrow down with a ladle of cool water. It burned his throat and Merlin coughed, sending water all over his front and Amara's hands.

"Sorry," Merlin groaned.

"It's okay," Amara told him gently. "Let's try again."

"I got the Yarrow down," Merlin said tiredly. "Can't we call it good?"

"No. You need water, Merlin. Come one…I'll help you."

The Druid girl managed to coax three or four ladles of water down his throat though he was sure that more of it ended up on his front than in his stomach. Still, when she finally laid him flat again, he couldn't deny that he felt a little better. Fractionally better, really, but he was an optimistic man.

"You say Arthur is a bad man because he hates forces he doesn't understand," Merlin whispered, bringing them back to their original subject. "But how are you any different?"

"What?" Amara barked, looking at him incredulously.

"How are you any different?" Merlin asked again. "Do you know why Arthur hates magic?"

"No," Amara told him honestly.

"There, you see? You hate Arthur without understanding him. Just like Arthur hates magic without understanding it first. Does that make you a bad person?"

"That's a technicality," Amara huffed out.

"No," Merlin said with a slight smirk. "It isn't."

"Then tell me, wise one. Why does Arthur hate magic?"

"Because he was lied to," Merlin replied softly, closing his eyes again. "His whole life he's been led to believe that a sorceress was the reason for his mother's death."

"But you know differently?" Amara asked.

"Yes."

"Who was it then?"

Merlin opened his eyes and looked at the Druid girl. She seemed so honest, so open, but he couldn't deny the possibility that her assistance was nothing more than a ruse. Something to bring his guard down long enough for Coran to wring whatever information he needed from Merlin's lips. Amara seemed to read his thoughts and she frowned, trying to hide her hurt but failing. Whether this was on purpose or not Merlin didn't know.

"Sorry," he told her.

"I understand," Amara said softly. "So, Arthur was lied to and that's why he hates magic?"

"Yes."

"But…you don't?"

"Don't what?"

"Hate magic," Amara sighed. "I thought hating magic was a prerequisite if you wanted to work anywhere near the Pendragon family."

"No," Merlin laughed seconds before his chest hitched and his amusement gave way to wracking coughs. He caught his breath then continued. "No, I definitely don't hate magic."

"Why was that funny?"

"Because…because I am magic, Amara," Merlin whispered, trying not to groan as his muscles tightened again.

"You have magic?" Amara gasped, pulling back from him.

"No," Merlin said between clenched teeth. "I _am_ magic."

"No," Amara said, shaking her head. "You can't be. You just…just can't be him."

"Can't be who?" Merlin asked her weakly.

"My mother used to tell me stories," Amara said. "More of a prophecy, I guess. About a great warlock and a great king that would bring balance back to the world. She said that he wouldn't just use magic…it would be a part of him. A man named—"

"Emrys?" Merlin inquired softly.

"You could be lying," Amara whispered.

"I could be," Merlin agreed, nodding his head tiredly. "But, I'm not."

"Then why are you still here?" Amara questioned. "If you really were the great Emrys you could have killed Coran by now. Killed all of them."

"I don't _want_ to kill anybody," Merlin replied, frowning. "I hate using my magic for that, Amara. It should be used for life and happiness. Not death and destruction."

"Ryker always says that," Amara whispered.

"Who?"

"The man I love," Amara answered. She quickly changed the subject. "My point is still valid, Merlin. You could take these men out without breaking a sweat. So why don't you?"

"I would have," Merlin told her. "But, the Verbana running through my veins seems to have other plans."

"Verbana," Amara said darkly. "The magic vanquisher."

"Yes," Merlin groaned. "However, I think that in my case it goes a bit farther than that."

"What do you mean?"

"It's—it's killing me," Merlin told her. "Making me sick. If it keeps on the way it is I'll be dead long before Coran ever manages to break me."

"You have to hold on," Amara told him desperately, looking out the tent at the darkening sky. "You have to, Merlin."

"Why?" Merlin asked her, his eyes unreadable. "What's the point, Amara?"

"Arthur is coming," Amara whispered in his ear. "He's going to come for you, Merlin."

"What?" Merlin gasped, so fearfully that Amara pulled away to stare at him in confusion. "No! He can't come here! You have to keep him away from here!"

It was clear that his reaction hadn't been what the girl had been hoping for. He wouldn't deny that part of him was more than a little relieved to hear his prince was planning on rescuing him, but then he remembered Coran's promise. If Arthur tried to come for him there would be a trap waiting for him. He would die and Merlin's sacrifice would have been for nothing.

"What is wrong with you?" Amara asked him incredulously. "The fever must have addled your brain. Why would you want the one man that can save you to stay away?"

"Coran will kill him," Merlin said desperately. "Amara, please, you have to keep him away from here. Arthur _has _to live, do you understand?"

"It's too late," Amara whispered. "Ryker left to get him over an hour ago. They weren't far from here to begin with. Its only a matter of time before—"

"No," Merlin howled. "This can't be happening. Please don't let this be happening."

"Merlin," Amara gasped, horrified. "Merlin, stop. Its okay. We have a plan."

Merlin shook his head. It didn't matter what plan they had because their plans always ended up exploding in their faces. He couldn't think of one plan of action that had gone off exactly as it should have. This was destined to fail and once it did Arthur would be on the table with him. He would have to listen to his friend's screams. See him bloody. See him dead.

Merlin's stomach rebelled against him and he leaned over the side of the table again, the water that been cool and soothing only moments before coming back up hot and acidic. There was a rustle of fabric and a surprise gasp from Amara. Merlin looked up and found Coran staring back at him. His hour of relief was up.

"Well," Coran said slowly. "I hope your hour was fruitful, my dear. Tell me…what did you learn?"

Merlin watched as Amara switched characters in a flash. One moment she was the gentle, caring Druid woman and the next she was cold, heartless. It was impressive, really, but he wasn't sure who was being played. Him or Coran.

"He told me many things," she said to Coran. "The fool didn't even realize he was being played."

Merlin closed his eyes. It was him then. He was the idiot. Unless…unless she was playing Coran for his sake. He shook his head, confused. How the hell was he supposed to keep up? The Druid was even more puzzling than Coran was. At least Merlin knew the bandit was crazy.

"Go on," Coran cooed to her. "Tell me what you know."

"I know Arthur's father has been lying to him his whole life," Amara whispered, looking away from Merlin.

"No," Merlin spat. "Please, Amara, don't—"

Merlin screamed when Coran whispered the words and the magic blasted into him again. He writhed on the small table and when the bandit finally ended his agony his burned feet were pressed against the ropes, but he didn't even have the strength to try and find a more comfortable position.

"Do _not_ speak unless I ask," Coran hissed. "She may have shown you kindness, but—"

"Coran," Badger said, throwing open the tent and practically jumping on the balls of his feet in excitement.

"You had better have a damn good reason for interrupting me," Coran hissed, his eyes flashing.

"They've caught him," Badger said, grinning. "They've caught the prince."

"What?" Coran gasped. "Are you sure?"

"Positive," Badger said. "Hagan found him in one of his rock traps. They're bringing him in now."

"Good," Coran said, a cruel smile splitting his lips. "Bring him to me." He turned back to Merlin and grabbed a fistful of his hair in his fist and pulled his head up. "You hear that, boy? I have him. Your silence was meaningless."

No, no, no. This wasn't the way it was supposed to happen. Why couldn't the idiot have stayed away? Why couldn't he have let Merlin do what he needed to? Why did he always have to play the bloody hero?

Merlin's head jerked up when he heard his friend's angered snarl. He was cursing and fighting, but it did him little good. Coran simply hit his prince with a blast of the same magic he'd been using against Merlin for the better part of a day. He heard Arthur gasp and collapse to his knees.

"No," Merlin shouted, struggling against his bonds despite the pain it caused him. "Arthur! Leave him alone!"

"Stop," Amara pleaded with him. "Stop, Merlin. You're hurting yourself."

"I don't care," Merlin cried breathlessly. "I have to help him!"

Arthur was tossed into the tent and he slowly got to his knees, his hands tied behind his back. Coran entered the tent close behind him and Arthur glared at him defiantly. Then Merlin groaned and Arthur's eyes snapped to him. His expression went from defiant to horrified almost instantly and Merlin watched as Arthur paled. The prince closed his eyes when his searching gaze finally came to a stop on Merlin's feet.

"You son of a bitch," Arthur hissed, looking at Coran. "I'll kill you for this."

"You should be proud of your servant," Coran said with an unconcerned grin. "He's been nothing but loyal to you. I offered him a chance to free himself. All he had to do was give me information on you, but he refused."

"Merlin," Arthur whispered. "You idiot. You should have told him what he needed to know."

"I couldn't betray you," Merlin said hoarsely. Before he could stop himself he was sobbing. "I'm sorry, Arthur. I'm sorry I got you into this. You should have left me...you should have—"

"I would never abandon you," Arthur told him sharply. "You have nothing to be sorry for, Merlin. I promise we'll get you out of this, old friend. We'll—we'll get you fixed up and you'll be back to your old tricks in no time."

"I don't think so," Merlin rasped out, trying to smile for his friend. "I think I'm broken beyond repair, Arthur. You'll have to get a new servant."

"Don't say that," Arthur snapped. "Don't you ever say that. I wouldn't want anyone else but you. You're more than my servant, you know. You're—you're my friend."

"I know," Merlin said with a small smile. "I think I've known that longer than you have, sire."

"Probably," Arthur snorted. "You just hold on, Merlin. Promise me that?"

"I'll try," Merlin whispered.

"This is all _very _touching," Coran said. "The prince and his servant reunited once more. It almost makes me regretful, you know. Almost." He smiled and ruffled Arthur's hair derisively. "I don't have much use for your servant any longer, my prince. He's served his purpose well, but now I have you. It will be just as fun to pull your kingdom's secrets from your lips as it was trying to pull them from his."

He walked over to Merlin and put his hands on his chest. Merlin closed his eyes and tried not to think of what was going to come next. He couldn't do it anymore. Couldn't bear it if he lost control in front of Arthur. It would ruin him. It would ruin Arthur to.

"What are you doing?" Arthur snarled. "Leave him alone. You said yourself you had me. Let him go."

"Oh," Coran pouted, his lips curling in mock chagrin. "I'm afraid I won't be letting your servant go, my prince. When I said he has served his purpose I only meant that its time for his days on earth to come to an end." He grinned suddenly and pressed down on Merlin's chest. "Shall I show you? Do you want to see a demonstration of what awaits you on my table? It's only fitting that your servant's life ends while in your service."

"Don't," Arthur began. "Please, just leave him alone. Don't hurt—"

Whatever Arthur was going to say was lost in Merlin's agonized scream as Coran's magic pulsed through him. The pain of it was worse than it ever had been before and it him deeper and with greater intensity. He felt his muscles seize up, felt himself writhing on the table, convulsing as Coran drew another scream from him. His cry turned into a harsh gurgle as blood filled his mouth and ran down the sides of his face.

"Merlin," he heard Arthur screaming as if from a long ways away. "Stop this, you bastard. Leave him alone!"

"Arthur," Merlin wheezed out, twitching. "I'm so—sorry."

Coran hit him again and Merlin went rigid. He couldn't think much because the pain was overwhelming, but he knew he was going to die. He could feel his heart stuttering and the air was ripped from his lungs every time he managed to take a breath. Even when Coran released his hold on him, Merlin didn't stop convulsing. He twitched and jerked for a long moment, coughing up more blood, then he finally went still. His eyes were twin crescents behind hooded lids. He was slipping in and out of consciousness, but he could feel Arthur's aura pressing against his. Comforting him. Maybe he wouldn't die alone after all.

"Merlin," Arthur was yelling at him desperately. "Merlin, open your eyes." Merlin's eyes flickered open for a moment and Arthur tried to smile encouragingly. "Remember your promise, Merlin. You said you'd hold on for me."

"I believe his exact words were 'I'll try'," Coran whispered gleefully as Merlin's eyes slipped closed. "And I believe he's failing you, my prince."

"No," Arthur shouted. "Merlin, don't you dare close your eyes, you hear me? You still owe me years of service, you clotpole. You don't get to get out of this so easily."

Merlin wanted to do what Arthur asked of him, but he didn't have the strength to fight anymore. He just wanted it to end, all of it. He was exhausted and tired of the pain. He just hoped Arthur would find a way to make it out alive.

"Merlin," Arthur whispered, unable to wipe the tears from his cheeks. "Merlin, please…I can't do this without you."

Merlin didn't hear him.


	10. He's All Me, Me, Me

**Author's Note: **_I apologize for the long, LONG delay. I have been extremely ill and am just starting to feel up to doing much of anything. I promise I will attempt to write more, but I hope you will all be patient with me. Anyways, this chapter ended up going a little differently than I had planned. It is mostly filler and fluff, but it does further the story the tiniest bit. The action will come in the next chapter. PLEASE REVIEW! I am almost to one hundred!_

Arthur's strange and unorthodox relationship with his servant was a popular topic of discussion among the citizens of Camelot. Arthur knew this, but had never felt any real compulsion to explain himself. His friendship with Merlin was the only thing he could call his own and was one of the few things that brought him happiness. The young man was Arthur's opposite in almost every way, fire to his water, hot to his cold, but their differences only strengthened their bond.

Of course, it hadn't always been that way. The first few months of their companionship had been nothing but rocky and Arthur had put Merlin in the stocks more times than any other man or woman in Camelot. He was fairly certain that his servant still held the record and would continue to do so for many years to come. They had fought relentlessly, argued tirelessly, and insulted one another in ways that had made the serving girls blush. He still remembered Merlin's first day with almost painful clarity. It hadn't been one of his proudest moments. Partly because it was the first time Merlin humbled him in front of his knights and partly because he'd deserved to be humbled.

Breakfast that morning was the first time Arthur had seen his servant since he'd been assigned his position in the royal household two days previous. Arthur had never been a morning person, but he'd woken up with a pounding headache because he'd drank too much wine the night before and was in a fouler mood than usual. He certainly hadn't been in the mood for talkative servants and he definitely hadn't been prepared for the radiant ball of sunshine that was Merlin in the morning.

He'd woken to the sound of clanging metal and a pained curse from the corner of his bedroom. He looked up blearily only to be greeted by his servant's sheepish face as he hurriedly tried to straighten the armor he'd knocked to the floor. Arthur groaned and his head flopped back on the pillow in annoyance.

"I hoped you wouldn't show up," he said, his eyes closing against the bright light that filtered through his window.

"What kind of servant would I be if I didn't show up?" Merlin asked cheerily.

"The nonexistent kind," Arthur snapped.

"Arthur," Merlin sighed. "I've—"

"Sire. You address me properly, Merlin. Sire. My lord if you want to get creative."

"Fine, but only if you call me your highness."

Arthur's eyes snapped open and he looked over at his new servant incredulously. Merlin stared calmly back at him, lips quirked in amusement. There was no fear in his servant's eyes, no concern that he'd overstepped his boundaries. Arthur didn't know if this was because Merlin wasn't aware he _had_ boundaries or if he simply didn't care. Arthur strongly expected the latter and he pushed himself up on his elbows so he could see the young man better.

"Do you have a death wish?" the prince asked quietly.

"Not particularly."

"Are you sure about that? The way you speak to me seems to suggest otherwise."

"Are you saying you're going to kill me? Honestly, Arthur, that is no way for our relationship to begin."

"We have no relationship, Merlin. You are my servant and I am your master."

"You aren't my master," Merlin said calmly, but Arthur could hear an undercurrent of anger in his voice. "I CHOSE to work for you. I wasn't forced into it."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why would you choose to work for me, Merlin? I don't even like you."

"The feeling is mutual," Merlin grimaced. "But, for the moment I have nothing better to do."

"Nothing better to do," Arthur repeated slowly, getting to his feet. "Did you just recently become a complete idiot or is it a life long trait?"

"It comes and goes. An unfortunate affliction I suppose, but I'd rather be an idiot some of the time than a prat _all _of the time. How difficult life must be for you."

"You can't speak to me like that," Arthur growled, throwing his tunic over his head.

"You keep telling me that, but you have yet to give me a reason not to."

"Merlin," Arthur hissed, taking a threatening step towards his new servant, his hands balled into fists. Merlin smoothly sidestepped him, gesturing towards the table.

"Breakfast," he said smugly. "And tea to help with your headache."

"I don't have a headache," Arthur lied even as he winced from the morning sun streaming into his chambers. He sat down at the table and looked over the assorted food Merlin had brought him. He had to grudgingly admit it wasn't half-bad.

"Right," Merlin snorted. "You don't have a headache and your pained grimace is completely normal. Tell me, _sire_, did your face recently start looking like a constipated rat or is it a life long trait?"

Arthur had a spoonful of honey and mash in his mouth when his servant's words registered in his brain. He spluttered in disbelief, choking on the mash, and coughing it out all over his chin and tunic. Merlin stared at him, eyes wide, biting his lip and trying hard not to smile. Arthur glared at him. Normally his cold blue eyes worked wonders on the servants, but Merlin seemed immune to his steely anger. If anything the young man was more amused than before.

"That's a very good look for you, sire. It really reflects your inner beauty. You should wear it more—" Arthur threw his bowl of mash at the servant's face and smiled triumphantly when it found its mark. He never missed.

The bowl clattered to the floor and Merlin stood silently, dripping sticky mash, attempting to wipe it from his eyes and nose. Arthur stood, pushed him to the side, and made his way over to his dressing shade, picking another tunic up from the floor as he went.

"I think I'll go without breakfast for today," Arthur said maliciously. "Clean this mess up and meet me outside in the training yard. You'll be a perfect dummy for my knights to practice their swordsmanship on." Arthur clapped the young man on the shoulder on his way out and grinned. "Remember, Merlin, you _chose _to work for me. You can leave any time you want to."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Merlin replied stonily.

Arthur had left the castle in high spirits. He was all but certain he'd seen the last of his annoying new servant. There were few who had the courage to go up against Arthur and though Merlin had showed more guts than any man previous he would be a fool to continue. What was he trying to prove? What could he possibly have to gain from warring with the crown prince? No, Merlin would give up his hopeless quest to make Arthur look like an idiot. He had to because if he continued Arthur would ruin him, would destroy him so completely that there would be no choice but for him to return to whatever hole in the ground he'd come from.

He donned his armor with a smile and strode confidently out onto the training field where his knights were waiting. There was laughter coming from the small group of men and Arthur wondered what inspired such amusement from the normally solemn men. Even Sir Leon was smiling and he was the most serious man Arthur had ever met. He moved closer and his jaw dropped in horror as he heard a voice he'd hoped to never hear again. Merlin's voice. Merlin was making his knights laugh. _His _knights. Arthur felt unreasonable fury surge through him and the urge to pummel his servant within an inch of his life became stronger than ever before.

"Merlin," Arthur hissed, pushing through the circle and grabbing Merlin's tunic in his fist. "What the hell are you doing out here?"

"You told me to be here," Merlin replied calmly, looking at Arthur's fists without worry or fear.

"You weren't actually supposed to show up," Arthur growled, squeezing his fists tighter.

"How was I supposed to know that?" Merlin asked. "You need to work on your communication skills, sire. I am not a mind reader, you know."

Arthur's men snorted in amusement, but grew silent when their prince glared at them with murder in his eyes. Arthur roughly pushed his servant aside and angrily pulled a crossbow from the weapon rack built into the stone of the courtyard.

"We'll be practicing with bows today," Arthur told his men, meeting Merlin's gaze with a cocky smirk. His servant rolled his eyes and Arthur frowned. "I want each of you to line up with a target and try to hit as many bulls-eyes as you can. I'll demonstrate."

Arthur brought his bow up and took a deep breath. He could see Merlin out of the corner of his eye watching him with intense curiosity and Arthur felt a mild pang of guilt in his stomach at what he was about to do. He shook the feeling away with another deep breath and grit his teeth as he fired the bow. The arrow hit its mark with a satisfying thud and Arthur grinned as he looked back at his knights for their approval.

"There will be a reward," Arthur continued. "To the knight that hits the bulls-eye the most." He looked towards Merlin and gestured with his head. "Go get my arrow, Merlin, and be quick about it."

Merlin sighed, but trudged towards the target some thirty paces away. Arthur silently reloaded his bow and aimed it at the earth just ahead of his servant's feet. He fired and felt the familiar surge of adrenaline rush through him. The bolt speared the dirt inches from Merlin's toes and the young man jumped back in surprise.

"Sorry," Arthur called gleefully. "That was a complete accident, Merlin. My finger just slipped."

His servant looked back at him disdainfully. Arthur shrugged then gestured him forward again with his fingers. Merlin didn't move. He crossed his arms, planted his feet, and scowled. The surge of adrenaline in Arthur's stomach grew into a frenzy at the man's stubbornness.

"What are you doing?" Arthur called to him, already fitting another bolt in his bow.

"You did that on purpose," Merlin said quietly, pointing down at the arrow at his feet.

"So?" Arthur snorted. "I told you to do something, Merlin. Now do it."

"Do it yourself," Merlin told him, narrowing his eyes.

Arthur's jaw dropped open. He hadn't foreseen these particular turn of events. Never in his life had a servant stood up for themself. He'd seen tears, he'd seen anger, he'd seen humiliation, but defiance? This was something entirely new to him and any enjoyment he might have found in the situation was suddenly taken from him. He knew his knights were watching the sudden power-play occurring between the two of them and the need to make Merlin look like a fool intensified.

"I don't think you understand what being a servant means, Merlin," Arthur said raising the bow and aiming it at the edges of Merlin's toes.

"Enlighten me then," Merlin replied disdainfully.

"I say jump," Arthur growled with his finger on the trigger. "And you say how high."

Arthur released another arrow and it landed even closer than the first. Merlin flinched, but didn't move. The young prince smirked and shook his head. His words from the market still rung true. Merlin was an idiot, but at least he was a brave one.

"You didn't say how high," Arthur called to the young man, looking around at his knights for approval. He was not met with their customary smiles and he frowned.

What was it about Merlin that instantly made people like him? Why didn't anyone see what Arthur saw when dealing with the man? He was disrespectful, nosey, idiotic, clumsy, and downright strange so why was it that people seemed to gravitate towards him? True, Merlin had saved his life, but he would have handled the situation with the witch just fine on his own. He would have moved out of the way of the dagger eventually, but Merlin had to jump in and be the hero.

"Stop it, Arthur," Merlin told him quietly. "I've had enough."

"Why? It's funny."

"No, it isn't," Merlin snapped. "It's childish and cruel."

"Say please," Arthur replied with a devilish grin, loading the bow once more.

"No."

"Manners, Merlin. Obviously your pig of a mother never bothered to teach you any so I suppose I'll have to."

Arthur wasn't sure what happened next. He'd raised the bow and aimed it so that the arrow would whiz by his servant's side with an inch to spare, but he hadn't planned on Merlin taking an angry step towards him. He supposed that insulting his mother was taking his feud with Merlin a bit too far. After all, if somebody had spoken of his mother in such a manner Arthur would have torn them apart.

Still, Merlin hadn't moved earlier so there was no reason to think he would now. Only he did move and Arthur's plan to humiliate his servant nearly turned disastrous. If he'd been the tiniest bit off in his calculations he could have killed the young man. Arthur was already turning towards his knights when he heard Merlin cry out in pain. His head whipped back around at the sound and he watched in horror as Merlin pressed a hand to his side. There was no arrow through his flesh, but that didn't mean anything. It could have easily grazed him and while such wounds were rarely serious they could be painful and deep enough to need medical attention.

"Merlin," Arthur called nervously, moving towards his servant's side. "Stop fooling around. No one believes that you're actually hurt. I didn't even come close to—" Arthur broke off when Merlin's hand came away scarlet and the bile rose in his throat. He'd hit him. He'd actually hit him.

There would be no punishment for Arthur. At least not one forced upon him. Uther treated servants in the same manner as most of the nobles of Camelot did. They were expendable and their word meant very little. Even if Arthur did kill Merlin his father would caution him for any future servants, but little more. Arthur often treated his servants with disrespect, but he never wished any of them real harm. And certainly not at his own hand.

"You idiot," Arthur said softly, pulling Merlin's hand aside to look at the wound. "You weren't supposed to move."

"You insulted my mother," Merlin hissed, jerking away from him. "You can insult me all you want, Arthur Pendragon, but you leave my mother alone. She's a better person than you'll ever be."

"It was an accident," Arthur began, looking nervously at his knights who were watching him like a hawk. "I didn't think that—"

"That's your problem," Merlin said loudly. "You don't think about anyone but yourself. You're selfish, arrogant, and a bully. You want to know why I took this job, Arthur?" Arthur was about to tell him no. No, he didn't want to know, but Merlin never gave him the chance. "I took it because I thought that you could be more than you are now. I thought maybe you could be a great man one day and I wanted to be a part of that, but now I see how foolish I was. Some people change, Arthur, but not you."

"Merlin," Arthur began, flushing in embarrassment. "You can't talk to me—"

"I'll talk to you in the manner you deserve," Merlin snapped back. "Just because you're born a prince it doesn't mean you've earned the right to treat people however you wish. Without the actions that go with the word you're nothing more than a title, Arthur."

Merlin shook his head in disgust, strode towards the target and ripped the arrow from its center. His eyes were hard and Arthur was once again struck by some unfamiliar sensation. There was something about the boy that called to Arthur like a voice upon the wind. He disliked him, true enough, but all the dislike in the world couldn't hide the fact that being near Merlin made Arthur see differently, see his world in a better light. Arthur met his gaze even as the young man dropped the arrow he'd been ordered to fetch at his feet.

"How high?" Merlin said quietly.

The young man met his eyes for a moment longer than turned and walked back across the courtyard. Arthur watched him go, stunned into silence. He couldn't think of anyone, other than his father, that had ever shamed him so thoroughly. He couldn't bear to turn around and look at his knights, the approval he'd sought from them earlier turned sour and stale in Merlin's wake. He dismissed them with a silent wave of his hand and refused to turn around until he'd heard the last of them file across the courtyard, whispering to one another beneath their breath.

Arthur stood there for a long time, attempting to work through everything Merlin had said to him. Nothing more than a title. Was that true? He had the respect of a prince, the looks of a prince, but did he have the character? Ten years ago he would have answered yes without hesitation, but times had changed. Arthur had changed. He was no longer the boy he'd once been. He'd grown up, as all boys must do, but he'd lost something along the way.

He tried to remember the last time the servants had smiled at him like they had when he was a boy. The last time he'd been greeted in the streets with the enthusiasm he remembered receiving as a child. Once more, he tried to remember the last time one of his servants remained with him for more than a few months at a time. He'd always assumed that they had been unfit for the rigorous schedule a prince held. It was only now that he began to wonder if they were more fit than he'd originally thought, but had fled because Arthur drove them away.

He'd played a few tricks, had a few laughs, but always under the assumption that the servants knew he was only playing. He'd never planned on being cruel…or had he? Was the surge of adrenaline he felt when he teased and taunted his servants enjoyment at their pain? Was he really that kind of monster?

Arthur shook his head and looked in the direction he knew his most recent servant had headed. He wasn't that kind of man. He knew it and would just have to prove it to Merlin. He would show the silly little man that he was much more than a title. He was the crown prince of Camelot. He would have to apologize, which would be painful. And he would have to keep Merlin on as his servant which would be downright torture, but if it proved the young man wrong then perhaps it would all be worth it.

Arthur made his way to Gaius's chambers and knocked on the door. He heard shuffling inside and his stomach tied itself into anxious little knots. He frowned at the emotion and shook it away, refusing to be nervous in front of Merlin. He expected Gaius to open the door, but it was Merlin who stood across the threshold. His smile was open and friendly until he realized who his visitor was, but as soon as he saw Arthur's face his expression turned guarded and unwelcoming.

"Merlin," Arthur heard Gaius call from inside. "Who is it?"

"It's Prince Prat," Merlin mumbled.

Arthur sighed. Merlin wasn't going to make apologizing easy.

"Who?" Gaius shouted.

"Prince Arthur," Merlin said, clearer and louder than before.

"Arthur," Gaius said quietly, his expression guarded as his face peered around the doorframe. Merlin must have told him about the training fiasco and the old man was convinced Arthur was there to clap Merlin in chains. "What brings you here, sire?"

"I've come to speak to Merlin," Arthur said softly.

"He's not here at the moment," Merlin replied stonily, trying to shut the door in Arthur's face. Arthur stopped it with his foot, but was surprised when he felt Merlin put his weight against it and push.

"Merlin," Gaius crowed. "You can't slam the door in the prince's face!"

"Watch me," Merlin grunted as he attempted to push the door closed. Arthur merely braced his knee against it and slipped his foot inside. Arthur felt the pressure on the door ease and pulled his foot out, thinking the young man had given up on his endeavor of keeping him from entering. It wasn't until he'd slipped his fingers through the crack of the door that he learned otherwise.

Merlin, determined in his quest to keep Arthur as far away from him as possible, stepped back from the door only to shove himself back against it with all his strength. He didn't see Arthur's fingers curl around the edges of the doorframe, but he heard the crunch of wood against bone when it connected with them.

Arthur cursed as pain exploded through his hand and he yanked it back even as the door bounced off his knuckles. The rough wood tore through his skin and blood bubbled up from the small gashes across the edges of his fingers. He could tell by how they throbbed that they weren't horribly deep, but he knew that they would sting tremendously and he wondered if any of his fingers had been broken.

The door slowly creaked open and Arthur glanced up at his servant. Merlin had gone sheet white and was staring at Arthur as if he were about to throw up. Arthur shambled a few feet away from him just to be safe.

"Did I just—" Merlin began breathlessly.

"Yes," Arthur hissed, holding his fingers.

"You're bleeding," Merlin said quietly.

"Really?" Arthur snapped. "I hadn't noticed, Merlin. What would I do without your keen sense of observation?"

"Arthur," Gaius said, studying the two of them in mild exasperation. "Come inside and let me take a look at that. I've already bandaged one wound today. I might as well take care of another."

"Arthur," Merlin was saying as Gaius led him towards a chair. "I'm sorry. I didn't even see your hand in the door. I thought—"

"You thought that shutting the door in the face of royalty was a good idea," Arthur said, rolling his eyes. "I can't hold you accountable, Merlin."

"Really?" Merlin said slowly, disbelief etched on his face. "You aren't mad?"

"Being angry at you for your idiocy would be like you being angry at me for how good looking I am," Arthur shrugged. "We're just born that way, Merlin."

Merlin frowned and Arthur sighed. Apparently they weren't ready to insult one another just yet. Merlin was still too furious with him. He felt bad about slamming his fingers in the door, but that didn't mean the servant had forgiven Arthur yet.

"How's your side?" Arthur inquired softly when Gaius slipped from the room to locate some balm he'd created earlier that day for swelling.

"Fine," Merlin replied briskly. "It wasn't that deep. Gaius fixed me up."

"I came here to say that I'm sorry," Arthur sighed.

"Come again?"

"I said that I'm sorry."

"You may have to say that a little bit louder because I have a hard time—"

"Merlin."

"Sorry, but it's not everyday you have a prince apologize to you."

"Don't let it go to your head. It won't be happening again."

"Why?" Merlin asked him after a moment.

"Why what?"

"Why apologize to me? I'm the servant, you're the master, remember? So why?"

"Because…because you were right, Merlin. I wasn't acting very princely."

"No. You weren't."

"And because you made me realize that I haven't been acting very nicely."

"No. You haven't."

"You don't have to agree with me, you know. You can disagree anytime you like. You're good at that."

"I thought you wanted me to be sycophantic," Merlin shrugged. "Yes, sire. No, sire. That sort of thing."

"I don't want you to be anything," Arthur laughed. "I never wanted you as a servant, Merlin. I never asked for it."

"Neither did I, Arthur. Being your servant was the last thing I wanted to do."

"Then why accept?"

"A chance."

"A chance?" Arthur asked. "What does that mean?"

"I accepted because there is a chance you're actually a decent man, Arthur. I accepted because there is a chance you'll be something great. I accepted because there is a chance that one day you and I will be friends."

"Doubtful," Arthur snorted.

"Which part?"

"You and I being friends."

"Then I guess I'll have to settle for the other two."

"You're not quitting then?"

"I never said I was."

"No, I suppose you didn't, but I thought—"

"Arthur," Merlin said seriously. "I won't quit. No matter what you do, no matter how hard you try…I won't quit. I'm here, Arthur Pendragon. Whether you like it or not."

"Merlin," Arthur said after a moment. "You're a very strange man."

"Sire," Merlin snorted. "You have _no_ idea."

And that had been the start of a friendship Arthur didn't even realize he had until it was nearly stolen from him. He remembered the panic he'd felt that night when Merlin drank from the poisoned goblet and it terrified him. He'd been desperate to save him, but his desperation then paled to what he felt now. He'd been searching the forest for hours, but had yet to find a sign that his servant was still alive.

He'd tried not to get discouraged, but as the hours passed and the daylight dwindled it became harder and harder to remain optimistic. The only hope he'd received since he'd realized Merlin was gone was the brief recognition that passed across the Druid girl's face when Arthur had mentioned his servant. He'd hoped she would have some answers for him, but instead of easing his fears she only fueled them. They had tried to follow her, but she'd disappeared into the trees so quickly and so quietly that Arthur wondered if he'd just imagined her.

Arthur sat down on a tree stump and rubbed his face wearily. He was exhausted, emotionally and physically, but he wouldn't rest until his servant was safe within his room in Camelot. They had split into pairs to cover more ground and Gwain came to stand beside him. Arthur turned to face him, expecting belittlement over the fact that he'd stopped, but the knight's expression was concerned.

"Are you alright, Princess?" Gwain asked softly.

"I'm fine, Gwain. I just needed to sit for a moment. Get my wits about me. I'm not giving up on him."

"I didn't think you were," the knight said seriously, flicking his hair from his face. "You just look less perky than usual."

"I've had a long night," Arthur said with a weary sigh.

"I'm sorry about what I said earlier," Gwain told him suddenly.

"You're apologizing? To me?" Arthur snorted. "That's a first."

"I know when I'm in the wrong," Gwain shrugged. "And I was. I was just…worried, I suppose. I shouldn't have said what I did."

"You were right," Arthur whispered.

"Princess?"

"He begged me not to go," Arthur said quietly. "Did you know that? He told me it was a bad idea, that there would only be trouble and I didn't—" He broke off and shook his head in disgust. "I didn't listen to him. I made fun of him for it and now he's…he's gone, Gwain. And it's my fault."

Gwain opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted by the sharp snap of twigs somewhere ahead of them. Arthur held his fist up to keep the knight quiet and looked around him with hawk like eyes. He stood, slowly, and pulled the crossbow he'd borrowed from Elyan up and aimed it ahead of him.

There was another snap to his right and Arthur whirled steadying the bow even as he came to a stop. He lowered his weapon slightly as a young man stared at him from across the forest with wide eyes. The man was young, eighteen or nineteen, but his bright eyes were intelligent and cautious. His rough, calloused hands were held high in surrender and he took a step forward.

"Don't," Arthur warned, raising his bow once more. "Stay where you are."

"I know where your servant is," the young man said softly.

"Merlin?" Arthur gasped, keeping his bow steady. "You've seen him?"

"Yes," the man replied.

"Where is he?" Arthur asked, lowering his weapon and striding towards the newcomer. "Is he safe?"

"I'll show you where he is," the man said slowly.

"Is he safe?" Arthur asked again.

"My lord, I—"

"I asked you a question," Arthur snapped. "Is—he—safe?"

The man stared at him and didn't say a word, but his silence was all the answer Arthur needed. Arthur groaned and sat back on the stump again. It was all his fault. If he had just listened, just trusted his friend's judgment then Merlin would be here with him now.

"Is he dead?" Arthur whispered.

"No," the young man said earnestly. "He isn't dead, my lord, but he will be soon if we don't hurry. I know where they are keeping him and I can get you in."

"How?" Arthur asked. "I'm not exactly easy to disguise."

"We won't need one, my lord. They won't question my plan."

"Who won't?"

"The men who have Merlin."

"And why wouldn't they question you?" Arthur asked suspiciously.

"Because I'm one of them," the young man replied simply, holding out his hand. "Ryker is the name and theft is the game."

"You must be joking?" Gwain snorted. "You actually expect us to trust you? They almost killed him last night."

"Last time I checked I'm the only lead you've got," Ryker told him.

"Why?" Arthur asked, ignoring Gwain. "Why would you help us?"

"Because I'm a thief," Ryker sighed. "Not a murderer. And because the woman I'm in love with seems to care an awful lot about your servant. She told me to give you this."

Ryker held out his hand, a number of Druid charms dangling from his closed fist. Arthur took them and almost immediately recognized them as the ones the Druid girl was wearing. The ones Elyan had noticed and commented upon. His spirits lifted and he felt a smile break across his face. Maybe he would get Merlin out of this mess after all. Whatever was wrong with him, whatever had been done to him, Arthur could handle as long as his friend was safe.

Arthur glanced up and saw Lancelot at a distance. Arthur waved the knight over and within five minutes the entire Roundtable was assembled save one. The young thief stood quietly and watched.

"Arthur," Gwen said, coming up beside him and taking his hand. "Who's your new friend?"

"This is Ryker," Arthur introduced. "He knows where Merlin is."

"Are you sure this is not a trick?" Elyan asked him quietly. "It would be the perfect ploy, sire."

"It would," Arthur agreed. "But I'm out of options and Merlin is out of time. He's agreed to help us so I'm trusting him." He looked at the thief. "You said you had a plan. What is it?"

"You aren't going to like it," Ryker told them quietly.

"Good plans are rarely liked," Arthur said with a small smile.

Ryker told them. Arthur didn't like it.


	11. Ballad For Dead Friends

**Author's Note: **_So sorry for the second long delay! I will try to do better! Anyways, I finally decided on whether this would be a reveal fic or not. I'm not telling you though…you'll just have to wait and see. Please review and I hope you like the chapter!_

Arthur Pendragon was sitting in a hole in the ground feeling rather foolish. He knew that there was little reason for him to feel foolish. After all, sitting in a hole in the ground was all part of the plan, but the idea of twiddling his thumbs in the bandit's hastily built trap while Merlin remained at the mercy of his captors seemed slightly ridiculous.

"How sure are you that this is going to work?" Arthur called up to the young man peering at him from the top of the hole.

"Not as sure as you'd want me to be," Ryker replied with a grin. "Why? Are you scared, my lord?"

"I'm not scared," Arthur said testily. "I just don't understand why you can't simply show me where Merlin is."

"There is more at stake here then your precious servant," Ryker told him quietly. "If Coran even suspects that I was involved he'll kill Amara and that is unacceptable to me. So we do this my way or not at all."

"Seems rather selfish to me," Arthur told him.

"My lord," Ryker grinned. "I'm a thief, remember? If I wasn't selfish I would be out of a job. Besides, don't tell me you wouldn't do the same exact thing if you were in my shoes."

"I would," Arthur agreed. "But, I wouldn't like myself for it."

"Alas, that is the nature of our world, is it not? We are constantly forced to go against our better nature in order to guarantee the safety and happiness of those we love. You would know that better than most, I would think."

"No," Arthur disagreed. "I don't agree with that at all."

"No?" Ryker asked mildly. "Interesting."

"Why do you say that?"

"Amara hates you," Ryker told him, squatting down at the edge of the hole. "Do you know why, Arthur?"

"Many people hate me," Arthur replied tonelessly.

"No," Ryker said. "Many people hate your father, my lord. Their hatred for you is simply because of the blood you carry in your veins. Amara hates you specifically. Do you know why?"

"No."

"You killed her family," Ryker said quietly. "Her entire village was slaughtered by you and your men. Peaceful Druids who had done nothing to deserve the fate you set upon them. You may not remember, but—"

"I remember," Arthur whispered, closing his eyes against the memory. "Why are you telling me this?"

"You say you don't agree that we do horrible things for the ones we love," Ryker said, staring down at Arthur. "That we don't put our morals aside when it comes to making others happy. But, I have to wonder. Was is it your desire to kill Amara's people or was it your father's?"

Arthur glanced up at the young man, unable to answer. It hadn't been his desire to kill those people. He'd never wanted it, but what had that mattered? Uther was his father, his king. In those days, Uther's words were law and Arthur would have been a fool if he hadn't obeyed. It didn't matter that the Druid's screams had haunted his nights for years, didn't matter that the memory still brought tears of shame to his eyes. It didn't matter that he'd fallen to his knees after it was all over and cried, didn't matter that he'd thrown up like a little boy in front of the men he was supposed to be leading. Arthur had been sickened by the approval in his father's eyes, haunted by the glee his men had found in the bloodshed, but none of that had mattered. He'd done his duty to Camelot and to his father. He'd done what he was supposed to do.

"I thought so," Ryker said sadly. "You are not an evil man, Arthur. Amara is wrong about that, I think, but I have yet to figure out what kind of man you are destined to be."

"What do you mean?"

"Are you the weak prince that listens to his father's orders regardless of the pain and bloodshed they will cause?" Ryker said. "Or are you the brave and selfless king that will risk everything to save his servant?"

"I'm not risking everything to save a servant," Arthur replied quietly. "I'm risking everything to save a friend."

Ryker smiled, but Arthur couldn't discern what the young thief was thinking. Their entire conversation reminded him of Merlin and Arthur's stomach tightened in worry. He hated having to wait, hated feeling useless in his ability to protect his friend. He'd always considered Merlin's safety his duty, even from the beginning, and he was failing. Miserably.

Ryker's head snapped to the side as voices echoed off the trees from some distance away from them. Arthur could tell from the look on the young man's face that it was the men they had been waiting for. Arthur closed his eyes and steadied himself. He had to play his role well or the whole plan could fall apart.

"Remember," Ryker hissed down at him. "You keep your hands off of Coran! Kill him and Amara dies."

"I remember," Arthur hissed, watching as the young man disappeared into the trees.

Arthur leaned back against the dirt wall and listened as the men's voices came nearer. They were talking excitedly and Arthur strained to hear them over the sounds of the forest.

"Did you hear his screams?" one cackled with glee. "The little rat will be squealing Arthur's secrets by the time Coran is done with him."

Arthur grit his teeth against the wave of fury and nausea that churned in his gut. They were talking about Merlin. Merlin's screams. Merlin's pain. Arthur would rip them apart if they so much as bruised his skin. For every scream they drew from his friend Arthur would draw a hundred from them.

"Maybe," another man said softly. "But, personally, I think Coran will kill the man before he gets anything out of him. He's got a pair of balls on him, that's for sure. Makes you wonder if—"

"Quiet," the other voice snapped suddenly. "I think we got something in our trap, Hagan."

Arthur looked up as soil spilled down the edges and was greeted by the leering grins of two bandits. One was large, bigger than Percival if such a thing were possible, and his huge arms bulged from the sides of a dirty tunic. The other was small and had the same shifty eyes of a rodent. His greasy hair was tucked back in a slick rat's tail and a brilliant shock of white hair stood out profoundly against his black locks.

"Badger," said the big man excitedly, nudging his companion with a beefy arm. "Do you know who that is?"

"Indeed I do, Hagan," Badger said with a raucous grin. "That is the royal prince of Camelot."

"Release me at once," Arthur demanded angrily. "If you know who I am then you know what my father will do to get me back."

"My humblest apologies," Badger told him. "But, I'm afraid there will be no releasing you today, my lord. You see, there is someone who would very much like to make your acquaintance and we would be fools to disappoint him. Hagan, be a dear and get our guest out of this dreary hole."

"My pleasure," Hagan hissed, holding down a hand for Arthur to grab. Arthur stepped back and glared at them.

"Don't be a fool," Badger told him quietly. "I know why you are here, Arthur Pendragon. You came back for your servant, did you not? You thought you would rescue him. A noble thought, to be sure, but being noble rarely gets a man anything but an early grave. We don't call them the seven deadly virtues for nothing, my lord."

"Where is he?" Arthur hissed. "What have you done with my servant?"

"We'll take you to him," Badger said with a smile. "But understand this, my lord. If you try and escape it will be your servant that pays the price. His screams will be your punishment. Do I make myself clear?"

Arthur nodded, his features ugly with an anger that was not faked. Hagan reached out a hand to him once more and Arthur took it, his skin crawling at the contact. Hagan pulled and Arthur felt his shoulder nearly pop out of his socket with the strength of it, but he was able to scramble up the side of the hole and onto the steady dirt above. He attempted to break the large man's grasp, but Hagan was too strong and he pushed Arthur down into the dirt. Badger searched him and pulled his sword and crossbow from his belt before tying Arthur's hands behind his back.

Arthur held his breath as they searched him, but they didn't find the dagger tied around his chest. He sent a quick prayer of thanks to the gods before being yanked bodily to his feet. Hagan kept a tight grip on the back of Arthur's neck and when he struggled the large man simply squeezed until Arthur felt he was about to pass out.

"What did I say?" Badger growled, sinking his bony fist into Arthur's stomach. "Do that again and I'll take a chunk of flesh from your servant, you understand?"

"You touch him and I'll kill you," Arthur wheezed, doubled over from the blow.

"You hearing this, Hagan?" Badger laughed. "The prince still thinks he's in a position to be making threats."

"Coran will take the fight right out of him," Hagan said, pushing Arthur forward. "Just like he did with his friend."

"You ever heard a little rat scream?" Badger asked, his breath foul in Arthur's face. "It's enough to make your heart break, you know. Little Merlin screamed and screamed and screamed, did you know? He screamed for you, my lord, but you weren't there to save him." The bandit shook his head in mock pity. "Coran will kill him and he'll make you watch. How does it feel knowing his death was because of you? That it's your fault?"

Arthur stopped in his tracks. It took everything he had to stick to the plan instead of putting a dagger through their throats. He was not a violent man, but in that moment he wanted nothing more than to spill the blood of the men who dared speak about Merlin as if he were nothing more than a plaything. A toy to be used for their enjoyment. Hagan pushed him forward again and Arthur swallowed his fury. He would have plenty of time for bloodshed and revenge later. For the moment, he had to concentrate on the plan and rescue Merlin.

They walked for what felt like hours, but Arthur knew it hadn't been more than thirty minutes. Arthur attempted to tune out the bandit's merciless teasing, but every time they mentioned how beautiful Merlin's blood looked against the dark leaves of the forest or how tears of pain left dirty track marks across his cheeks, Arthur found his anger growing. He was all but shaking with rage when they finally breached the edges of the camp.

"I'll go let Coran know," Badger told Hagan as they neared a large tent in the center of the camp. "You keep hold of the prince and bring him when I tell you."

"Where is Merlin?" Arthur hissed.

"You'll be reunited with your long lost love soon enough," Badger told him, spitting at his feet. "If I were you I wouldn't be so eager."

Arthur watched the man enter the tent with baited breath then turned to eye the surrounding forest. He couldn't see signs of his knights or of Ryker, but he knew instinctively that they were there. That they were ready. He puckered his lips to whistle the signal, but before he could get the tune out he heard a noise that made his heart stop. It was an anguished cry of rage and bitter disappointment. It was weak, it was pained, and it was Merlin's.

"Merlin," Arthur breathed. "Oh gods."

Arthur didn't think about what he was doing or how it might get him killed. The only thought running through his mind in that moment was saving Merlin, was ending that horrible noise coming from his friend's throat. Arthur's head snapped back and he heard a satisfying crunch as the back of his skull cracked into Hagan's nose. The large man cried out and lifted his hands to his face, releasing his hold on Arthur in the process. Arthur ran forward, towards the mouth of the tent. He had almost reached his goal when a tall man came from inside and held his hand out.

One moment Arthur was on his feet and the next he'd been hit by a wall of power so fierce that ever muscle in his body seized with the force of it. He shouted in pain and fell to his knees, unable to move or draw in a breath. He could feel the magic burning through him, working its way through his veins like fire in his blood, like the spell that had hit him two nights previous. The tall man grabbed him by his collar and dragged him into the tent, forcing him to his knees once more. Arthur knew who the man was even without the bandit leader introducing himself. This was Coran. This was the man Arthur would—

A low groan interrupted Arthur's thoughts and he slowly looked over at the nearly unrecognizable young man tied to a long table in the center of the tent. Arthur swallowed past the lump in his throat and tried to take stock in what he was seeing. The young man's clothes were drenched with sweat and he was shivering uncontrollably against his bonds. His eyes were feverish, glazed, and Arthur could read his friend's agony in their depths. Numerous bruises stood out profoundly against the chalky white pallor of his skin and Arthur could see a ragged, bloody wound where his shoulder met his collarbone. His chest rose and fell far too rapidly for Arthur's liking, like he was fighting to breathe. Arthur didn't see any other flesh wounds. He would be grateful for whatever mercies came his way. His servant could have been hurt far worse.

Then Arthur's eyes swept down to where the ropes crisscrossed across Merlin's legs. His eyes closed in horror at the sight that met him there and it was all he could do to keep breathing. Burned. Horribly burned. The flesh of Merlin's calves all the way down to the edges of his toes was blackened by heat and flame. He opened his eyes once more and tried not to be sick. He could see the red, blistered flesh lying just beneath the blackened, dead skin and he shuddered with the thought of how much pain it would be causing his friend.

"You son of a bitch," Arthur hissed, looking at Coran. "I'll kill you for this."

"You should be proud of your servant," Coran said with an unconcerned grin. "He's been nothing but loyal to you. I offered him a chance to free himself. All he had to do was give me information on you, but he refused."

"Merlin," Arthur whispered. "You idiot. You should have told him what he needed to know."

"I couldn't betray you," Merlin said hoarsely. Arthur's heart broke as he began to cry. "I'm sorry, Arthur. I'm sorry I got you into this. You should have left me…you should have—"

"I would never abandon you," Arthur told his friend sharply. "You have nothing to be sorry for, Merlin. I promise we'll get you out of this old friend. We''ll—" Arthur had to swallow to continue. "We'll get you fixed up and you'll be back to your old tricks in no time."

"I don't think so," Merlin said weakly, attempting to smile for his friend. "I think I'm broken beyond repair, Arthur. You'll have to get a new servant."

"Don't say that," Arthur snapped. "Don't you ever say that. I wouldn't want anyone else but you. You're more than my servant, you know. You're—you're my friend."

"I know," Merlin replied with a small smile. "I think I've known that longer than you have, sire."

"Probably," Arthur snorted. "You just hold on, Merlin. Promise me that."

"I'll try," Merlin whispered.

"This is all _very_ touching," Coran said. "The prince and his servant reunited once more. It almost makes me regretful, you know. Almost." He ruffled Arthur's hair derisively before Arthur could pull away. "I don't have much use for your servant any longer, my prince. He's served his purpose well, but now I have you. It will be just as fun pulling your kingdom's secrets from your lips as it was trying to pull them from his."

Arthur watched as Coran walked over to Merlin and put his hands on Merlin's chest. Merlin closed his eyes and whimpered. It was clear that his friend was trying to be brave for him, trying to save Arthur the hurt of having to watch him suffer, but the expression on his face would haunt Arthur for years. Merlin knew death was coming for him. He knew it and had accepted it.

"What are you doing?" Arthur snarled even though he already knew. "Leave him alone. You said yourself you had me. Let him go."

"Oh," Coran pouted, his lips curling in a mock pout. "I'm afraid I won't be letting your servant go, my prince. When I said he served his purpose I only meant that its time for his days on earth to come to an end." He grinned and pressed down harder on Merlin's chest. "Shall I show you? Do you want to see a demonstration of what awaits you on my table? It's only fitting that your servant's life ends while in your service."

"Don't," Arthur began, watching Merlin's eyes flicker open and meet his lifelessly. "Please, just leave him alone. Don't—"

Arthur's pleas were lost in Merlin's sudden agonized scream as Coran's magic pulsed through him. The young man seized up, his back arching off the table, eyes fluttering as the power ripped through him. Arthur looked away for a moment, but his eyes were forced back again when he heard Merlin's screams catch in his throat. He coughed, dark blood spattering his tunic and running down the sides of his mouth.

"Merlin," Arthur screamed. "Stop this, you bastard! Leave him alone!"

Coran released the magic for a moment and Merlin collapsed on his side against the table, muscles jerking and twitching uncontrollably. His eyes met Arthur's and Arthur nearly threw up at the pain he saw reflected there.

"Arthur," Merlin wheezed out, his voice wet and harsh in Arthur's ears. "I'm so—sorry."

Coran leered at him over Merlin's twitching body, hands pressed tightly against his friend's flesh. The bandit leader hissed out a word and Merlin groaned, his eyes fluttering closed. Arthur knew instinctively that this was the end. His friend was going to die and there was nothing Arthur could do but watch. Merlin was too weak to even scream.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, Merlin lay still. He was barely conscious, struggling to breathe, but Arthur took comfort in the simple rise and fall of his friend's chest. No matter how weak it was.

"Merlin," Arthur yelled at his friend as Merlin's eyes threatened to close. "Merlin, open your eyes." The young man's lids flickered open and Arthur tried to smile encouragingly. "Remember your promise, Merlin. You said you'd hold on for me."

"I believe his exact words were 'I'll try,'" Coran said gleefully, watching as Merlin's eyes slipped shut. "And I believe he's failing you, my prince."

"No," Arthur shouted, tears spilling across his cheeks. "Merlin, don't you dare close your eyes, you hear me? You still owe me years of service, you clotpole. You don't get to get out of this that easily!"

Merlin didn't answer him and Arthur felt his heart rip in two. This wasn't happening. It couldn't be happening. Merlin was everything to him. Without Merlin, Arthur was nothing. He was—he was lost. And so was the world Arthur had dreamed of building with Merlin at his side.

"Merlin," Arthur whispered. "Merlin, please. I can't do this without you."

"You won't have to," Coran told him with a serpent's smile. "The same fate awaits you, Prince Arthur." He turned to face someone in the corner of the tent. "Amara, dear, would you be so kind and inform Badger that I will be needing my iron boots again?"

It was only then that Arthur realized there had been another person in the tent with them. He glanced at the young Druid girl he'd met earlier and when she met his eyes her face was pale, but determined. She nodded quietly to Coran then slipped past Arthur on her way out of the tent. Her back was to Coran, but Arthur watched as her lips moved and her eyes flashed gold. There was a gush of warm air and a slight presence that tickled against Arthur's skin like butterfly wings. The ropes binding Arthur's wrists loosened and he had to fight not to grimace as the blood rushed back into his hands.

"It should bring you comfort that he died believing in you," Coran told Arthur as Amara disappeared. "Even though you betrayed him he never stopped believing in the man he thought you were. It is a shame that you and I know the truth, hmm?"

"I would never betray him," Arthur spat, looking up at Coran in hatred.

"No?" Coran asked, smiling impishly. "Are you sure? I have a letter that would prove otherwise."

"What are you talking about?" Arthur asked darkly. "What letter?"

"A letter from a devoted son to his father," Coran grinned. "A letter accusing your supposed friend of magic." He held up a piece of parchment and Arthur glimpsed his own untidy scrawl. "A letter agreeing to the death of said friend if that is what your father deemed fit."

Arthur paled. He knew what letter Coran was speaking of. He'd written it almost two years ago, but had never sent it. It had sat on his desk for weeks, a constant reminder of the choice Arthur would one day have to make. At first, he had believed it had come down to loyalty. Who did he owe more allegiance to? His father and the kingdom he'd worked so hard to build? Or the servant he'd come to view as friend and companion? What would it mean if he chose Merlin over his father? What would it mean if chose his father over his friend?

It had taken months for him to realize that he didn't have to choose. His father had often told him that following one's heart was a luxury only ordinary men could afford. As a future king he was meant to follow the path laid out for him by his ancestors, by his father. But, Arthur didn't want to follow a path his father had laid out for him. He wanted to create his own, to be both man and king. He wanted to follow his heart and his heart told him that Merlin had a part to play in his future. Arthur hadn't sent the letter, but he hadn't destroyed it either. Now he was wishing he had.

"You showed it to him," Arthur said quietly. "You made him think I had turned against him."

"You would have eventually," Coran told him. "You are a Pendragon, after all. You would have betrayed his trust in the end. Killed him for what he was…for what he could do."

"No," Arthur spat. "He's my friend and he makes me a better person. That's all I care about."

"Coran," Badger said, throwing the tent flap open. "The boots are nearly ready and—" The bandit grunted as an arrow suddenly exploded through his chest. His eyes opened wide in disbelief before he toppled to the ground.

"What the hell?" Coran snarled, turning to gaze at Arthur.

Screams erupted from the campsite and Arthur grinned. His knights had begun their attack from the safety of the trees and would soon work their way inwards to the camp itself. He hadn't given the signal, but the Knights of the Roundtable were highly adaptive and worked beyond the hierarchy of knighthood and the rules that governed them. It was why Arthur had chosen them, why he trusted them with his life every moment of everyday.

"You made a mistake in harming my friend," Arthur told the man as he stood, letting the ropes pool at his feet. "I don't abandon the people that I love, Coran. I am not my father. It's time you learned that."

"You insolent little fool," Coran snarled, throwing his hand out.

Arthur braced himself for the magic he was sure was going to hit him, but it never came. He opened his eyes in shock to find Amara standing in front of him, hand raised with fingers spread. A wall of pulsing energy spread out from her fingertips and separated them from Coran.

"You protect him?" the bandit asked quietly. "You choose the murderous prince over members of your own kind?"

"I am nothing like you," Amara hissed. "You twist magic into an evil, soulless thing, Coran. You are the reason men like Uther Pendragon hunt us down like animals."

"Amara," Arthur began. "You don't have to do this for me. I—"

"I'm not doing this for you," Amara told him quietly. "I'm doing it for Merlin. He is more important to the survival of my kind then you could possibly realize, Arthur Pendragon."

"But he'll kill you," Arthur pleaded. "Ryker said—"

"Ryker underestimates me," Amara replied with a small smile. "Now, stay behind me like a good little prince and keep your mouth shut. You're mindless prattle is distracting me."

"You always were a foolish girl," Coran hissed at Amara, pulling a dagger and a doll from his coat pocket. "Ryker should have warned you of what I was capable of." The man brought the dagger down, its tip disappearing into the doll he was holding.

Amara gasped and pressed a hand to her stomach, face creased in pain. Her hand came away scarlet and she looked at the blood on her palm with sickened fascination. She glanced up at Coran in disbelief and the bandit smiled down at her, pulling the dagger from the fabric depths of the doll. Amara cried out in pain, her knees buckling. Arthur barely had time to catch her before she crumpled to the dirt. Her hands clutched at his tunic in desperation, but her eyes remained steady and calm. Almost too calm for someone who was supposed to be dying.

Amara grinned and winked. Arthur was so surprised by the gesture that he nearly dropped her, but he managed to keep both of them on their feet. The Druid girl put her lips to Arthur's ear and smiled.

"Things are rarely as they seem," she whispered to him. "Ryker taught me that." The girl turned to face the bandit leader and her blue eyes met the grey gaze of the man standing behind him. "Do it, Ryker."

"My pleasure," Ryker snarled, thrusting the blade of his sword deep into Coran's belly even as the bandit turned to face him. Coran grunted as the sword entered him and he looked down at it in disbelief.

"She should be dead," Coran groaned. "I bound her to me…she should be—" Ryker pulled the blade back and Coran gasped, falling to his knees as blood began to stain his tunic a bright crimson.

"My charms," Amara said, stepping around the bandit to link hands with Ryker. "You've always scoffed at the power they held, Coran, but you were foolish to do so. I may not have powerful magic at my fingertips, but I have kept to the old ways. The spirits of the earth are my guardians and no power is greater." She glanced over to where Merlin lay motionless on the table. "Except, perhaps, one."

"Arthur?" Ryker asked, holding the sword out to him. "Care to do the honors of ending his miserable life?"

Arthur took the sword from Ryker's outstretched hand and raised it high. He could not allow the bandit to live, but he would grant him a swift death. The man didn't deserve it, but its what Merlin would have wanted.

"Mercy," Coran gasped out. "Grant me mercy, my lord."

"I am," Arthur said coldly. He brought the sword down.

He thought he would feel relieved at the bandit's death. Thought he would be pleased, but he wasn't. He merely felt drained and more exhausted than ever before. He stared at the man's body for a long time attempting to come to terms with everything that had happened.

"Arthur?" Ryker asked quietly. "Are you alright? You don't—"

"I'm fine," Arthur replied, shaking his head to clear it. "Stay with Merlin."

"Where are you going?" Amara demanded as he walked out of the tent.

"I won't abandon my men," Arthur called back to her, wiping his sword clean on the grass. He ripped the dagger from off his chest and tossed it to her. "If anyone but me comes near him don't hesitate to use that."

"Arthur," Amara began. "You don't need to—"

"Keep him safe," Arthur told her. "Do whatever it takes."

"I think the pretty lady is trying to tell you there's no need," Gwain said suddenly, coming up from behind Arthur and patting him on the back.

"What?" Arthur said.

"We got them all," Gwain snorted. "Typical bandits, Princess. They like to act tough, but they scatter at the first sign things may not be going their way."

"Are you sure?" Arthur asked. "They could be regrouping for a counter attack and—"

"We're sure," Gwain said, rolling his eyes. "How smart do you think these men are exactly, Princess? I doubt they have a single complete brain between them."

"You'd fit right in with them then," Arthur teased, but his heart wasn't in it. The words were simply instinctual. He didn't feel much like laughing and he didn't think he would for a long time.

"Princess?" Gwain asked, sensing his prince's mood. "What is it?"

"Merlin," Arthur whispered. "Gods, they—" He choked and had to shake his head. "I've got to go to him, Gwain. Find the others and tell them to make a pallet out of the softest materials they can find."

Arthur didn't wait for his knight's reply. There was nothing else he could have said to him anyways. He walked lifelessly back into the tent, stepping over Coran's body without even really noticing it was there. Merlin was the only thing that mattered to him.

"I'm sorry," Arthur whispered, wiping the blood from Merlin's face with the bottom of his tunic. "I'm so, so sorry, old friend. You tried to warn me, but like a fool I didn't listen. How many times have you told me to turn back? How many times have you begged me to trust you?" A lone tear spilled down his cheek, but for once he made no move to wipe it away. He collapsed to his knees as the emotion hit him and he clung to Merlin's limp hand with all the desperation of a drowning man. "I have been such an idiot, Merlin. And you're the one who paid the price for it. Please, just open your eyes. Please, please, please. I swear I'll do anything if you just open your eyes."

"Brighid," Arthur whispered, calling upon the only goddess of the Old Religion he could remember. "I know I am probably the last person you would ever want to hear from, but please—" His voice broke and his shoulders hitched with the force of his sobs. "Bring him back to me. I am nothing without him, don't you see? He—he makes me a better man and I know that you don't give a damn about me, but Merlin believes in you. I know he does. I beg of you…bring him back. I'll do anything. I'll—I'll bring magic back to Camelot. I swear. Just…please…"

Arthur squeezed his eyes shut and felt hot tears course down his cheeks to pool at the hollow of his throat. Who was he kidding? The gods of the Old Religion probably hated him. Why would they answer his prayer? Why would they deign to listen to him at all? He was nothing to them. He was—

"Did you really—really mean what you said?" a weak voice rasped from above him.

Arthur's heart stopped and he looked up at his servant slowly, unsure if what he'd heard was real or if it was simply a figment of his imagination. When Arthur's eyes met Merlin's feverish gaze the prince nearly fell over in shock. Had the goddess heard him? Had she actually answered his prayers?

"Would you—would you stop looking at me like that?" Merlin said, beginning to shiver again. "You're beginning to—to scare me, Arthur."

"I thought you were dead," Arthur whispered, holding on to Merlin's hand for dear life. "I saw what he did to you, Meriln. I thought…gods, there was so much blood. And you—"

"Everything is okay now," Merlin told him tiredly. "I'm okay."

"Like hell you are," Arthur rasped. "I don't know if you've seen yourself lately, but—"

"Spare me the details," Merlin groaned. "Feeling them is enough, I think."

"Are you in a lot of pain?" Arthur asked.

"Not at all, sire. I feel like a warm summer day. Like flowers and kittens and—"

"Don't be funny, Merlin."

"Not being funny, sire. Being sarcastic."

"Don't be sarcastic then."

"Then don't ask stupid questions," Merlin said, grinning up at his master weakly. Suddenly, the young man's muscles seized and it was all Merlin could do to hold back a scream as his legs shifted against the ropes.

"Here," Arthur whispered, moving down and cutting the ropes wrapped tightly around Merlin's legs.

"Thanks," Merlin said, gasping as his muscles relaxed. "You have no idea how good that feels, sire."

Arthur pressed a hand to his friend's forehead and swore at the heat that seemed to radiate off of Merlin's flesh. He ripped a strip of fabric from his tunic, wet it in a bucket on the floor, and pressed it against his servant's flesh.

"You've got a bad fever," Arthur said, watching as Merlin closed his eyes as the cool relief of the press took effect. "But, it doesn't look like any of your wounds are infected."

"They aren't," Merlin told him. "It's not the wounds that are causing it."

"Do you know what is?"

"Yes."

"Are you going to tell me?"

"No."

"Why the hell not?" Arthur snapped. "If I know what's causing it maybe I can help you."

"You can't help me," Merlin murmured.

"Merlin," Arthur argued. "You can't possibly know that. I'm smarter than you think I am."

"Apparently," Merlin said, his teeth chattering as he shivered. "But, what's wrong with me goes way beyond your comfort zone, Arthur."

"You mean it's magical?" Arthur asked. "Is that what you're saying?"

"Yes."

"What's affecting you is magical? Or…it's affecting you because you…because you're…because of what you—"

"Don't hurt yourself, Arthur. You don't have to say it."

"I'm sorry," Arthur whispered.

"I know."

"I don't know if I'm ready for this, Merlin."

"I understand, sire."

"Will it—will you die?"

"Most likely."

"And is there anything I can do to stop it?" Arthur asked quietly, looking away from his friend in shame.

"I don't think so," Merlin told him, voice shaking as his muscles seized up again.

"That can't be the answer," Arthur snarled. "You can't give up on me like that, Merlin. There has to be a way to save you. There has to be a cure for whatever they poisoned you with. We just have to—"

"It isn't poison," Merlin said quietly. "At least…not poison like you're thinking, sire. It's far more complicated than that."

"I don't understand," Arthur whispered. "What are you trying to say to me, Merlin? Why won't you tell me what it is?"

"Because," Merlin grimaced. "Because if I tell you what it is nothing will ever be the same for us, Arthur. I can't do that to you. I won't. Not until you're ready."

"I won't watch you die, Merlin. Not again. Sacrifices have to me made in every great friendship, you know. You've already made yours. It's time for me to make mine."

"You don't know what you're saying," Merlin rasped. "You don't know what it would mean."

"Yes," Arthur replied steadily. "I do know, Merlin. I think I've known for years now and I've been running away from it like a child. It's time I acted like the king you've been preparing me to be."

"Arthur—"

"Shut-up, Merlin," Arthur said quietly. " I ask the questions now. You answer."

Merlin stared at him wordlessly from the table. His expression was hopeful, but Arthur could see the fear lurking beneath his features. Gods, the man was as terrified as Arthur was.

"The poison they gave you is magical?" Arthur asked, closing his eyes.

"Sort of."

"Merlin," Arthur began, opening his eyes in frustration.

"Verbana," Merlin said softly. "They gave me Verbana, Arthur."

"But, Verbana only affects people who have—"

"Yes, Arthur."

"So—so—you—you have—" Arthur swallowed hard and met his servant's eyes. "You have magic?"

"You don't have to do this," Merlin whispered. "I'm okay with that, you know."

"I know you are," Arthur said softly. "But you shouldn't be, old friend. I don't want you to be afraid of me."

"I'm not afraid of you," Merlin replied.

"But you were?"

"Yes," Merlin said honestly. "But, you were a different man back then, Arthur."

"Do you think I can do this?" Arthur asked his friend. "Do you think I'm ready?"

"I can't make that decision for you," Merlin whispered. "This is your moment, Arthur."

Arthur swallowed again and set his jaw. Merlin was right. This was his moment. This was the moment he could decide the type of man he was going to be. Was he the weak prince that obeyed his father's every command or was he the king Merlin believed he could be? The king that would live to do great things, the king that would bring peace to the lands of Albion. If he took this step then his life would never be the same, but perhaps that was for the better? Perhaps this was his destiny. Merlin's destiny.

"Merlin," Arthur whispered, taking a deep and steadying breath. "Do you have magic?"

"Are you sure?" Merlin asked after a moment.

"I'm sure," Arthur replied with a small smile. "Do you have magic, old friend?"

"Yes," came the steady reply.


	12. The Decidedly Deadly Delirious Delirium

**Author's Note: **_I am sorry for the long delay again. Finding time to write has been rather difficult as of late, but I will try to be better. I really hope you guys like this chapter because last chapter wasn't my best work. I was in a funk that day that apparently transferred to my writing and I hope this is better. Please REVIEW and let me know either way. I love good reviews as much as the next person, but am always looking for ways to improve myself. However, if you liked it don't hesitate to tell me that either! _

Merlin had imagined telling Arthur his secret a thousand different times in a thousand different ways over the years. None of his scenarios, however, had involved magical torture and only a few had contained a calm Arthur. Perhaps he shouldn't have been surprised at the strange turn of events. After all, his life was an endlessly spinning wheel of chaos and he'd learned long ago that he was safer expecting the unexpected.

Still, despite his general acceptance that life rarely went according to plan, Merlin found himself dazed by Arthur's lack of reaction to the secret that had plagued Merlin's conscience for the last five years. At least…he _thought_ it was Arthur's lack of reaction that was causing his dreamlike state. He supposed his fever could have had something to do with it…and perhaps the disgusting potion Amara had forced down his throat that made the inferno in his veins die down to a small flame.

Merlin risked a glance over at the prince from his makeshift sleeping mat and swallowed. He'd been ordered to sleep, but despite his exhaustion he couldn't bring himself to close his eyes. He and Arthur had not spoken, really spoken, about his gifts since his first admittance over four hours ago. Arthur's attention had been entirely focused on getting his servant comfortable and he'd been swept up in all that entailed, never once pausing to talk about what really mattered.

He found himself wishing that he could read Arthur's mind. Merlin thought back to the few moments they'd spent together and tried to recall any expression, any movement or word that could give him some clue as to what his friend was thinking. Arthur could be as stoic as any man alive, but surely a secret as mind boggling and life altering as Merlin's deserved _some _kind of reaction.

"Yes," Merlin had said steadily, trying to maintain eye contact with his friend, but failing miserably. "Yes, I have magic."

Arthur had simply stared at him. There had been no expression on his face, no anger in his eyes, no feeling at all. Merlin had waited patiently. After all, he could imagine all the thoughts that were flying through his friend's mind at that moment. He'd thought the same things everyday for the last five years. There was a vast difference between suspecting and knowing. Arthur's suspicion had allowed him to live in a world where he could easily ignore Merlin's secrets, but knowing forced him to acknowledge what his servant being involved in magic could mean to him…and to the future of Camelot.

So he'd waited…and waited…and waited. Five minutes passed and Arthur still had not so much as blinked. Merlin frowned and briefly wondered if his friend had been struck dumb by the enormity of his admission. He couldn't deny that he felt slightly miffed. He was covered in sweat and blood laying on a table after being tortured for hours and had admitted to possibly the most life altering secret in the history of the world, but Arthur couldn't even manage a single word.

"Say something," Merlin said weakly. "Arthur, please."

Merlin shivered violently and groaned as his muscles tightened beneath his skin. His movement seemed to snap Arthur out of whatever place he'd settled himself into because the prince gripped his hand tightly until Merlin's muscles stopped seizing and he was able to relax against the table, his breath coming in sharp wheezes.

"Are you alright?" Arthur asked softly, watching in concern as Merlin tried to catch his breath.

"I'm—I'm fine," Merlin panted. "It only hurts for a moment and then it passes."

"You don't look good, Merlin."

"Really?" Merlin said dryly. "You don't say, sire."

"We need to get you off this table," Arthur said, rolling his eyes in response to Merlin's sarcasm. "The knights are constructing a palette for you. We won't be able to leave tonight, but at least you'll be comfortable and we can get you fixed up a bit."

"Arthur, I really think we need to talk about—"

"You'll have to wrap your arm around my neck," Arthur continued, ignoring his friend. "I should be able to carry you, but I—"

"Absolutely not," Merlin said loudly, his need for Arthur to respond to his secret gone for the moment.

"What?"

"You are not carrying me, Arthur. I am not a sack of potatoes you can just sling over your back."

"Who said anything about potatoes?" Arthur asked, looking at Merlin as if he'd gone completely bonkers.

"It was a metaphor," Merlin sniffed.

"How do you expect to get out of here, Merlin?"

"I'll walk."

"You'll…walk…"

"Yes. I've walked before and I'll do it again."

"Merlin," Arthur sighed. "You are being ridiculous."

"Well," Merlin snapped, eyes glazed with fever. "You are being controlling! I refuse to be carried around like a child."

"First you're a sack of potatoes and now you're a child? That's quite the metamorphosis you've undertaken."

"Don't tease me, Arthur. I am in a mood and you won't like me in a mood."

"What you are," Arthur sighed. "Is delirious."

Merlin thought about this for a moment. He didn't necessarily _feel_ delirious, but maybe he was. How did someone know they were delirious? Was there a tiny voice in his head that told him he was? Or was he just supposed to instinctively know when his deliriousness had begun? He felt that he should be given some sort of sign that he was losing his marbles, some sort of vibrant signal that would illuminate his descent into delusion.

Merlin frowned, reconsidered his thoughts, and realized with a sinking dread that he'd received his signal loud and clear. It was a terrifying and sobering realization. He'd been completely lucid moments before, but suddenly his brain felt cloudy and words that were not his own sat heavy upon his tongue. He wanted to stop them, wanted to force his disillusioned thoughts back to the fevered recesses of his mind, but he couldn't.

"You are a very rude man," said Delusional Merlin. "I don't think I like you one bit."

"That's too bad," Arthur told him, putting his arm beneath Merlin's shoulder so he could lift him.

"Don't," Merlin slurred feverishly. "Don't even think about it. I'm not potatoes!"

"Merlin," Arthur whispered in his ear. "I'm sorry about this."

"Don't touch me," Merlin began. "Arthur, I can—"

Pain ripped through Merlin's legs as Arthur bent them and Merlin had to bite back a scream. Any delirium, any wild delusions he'd fallen trap to disappeared with the first throb of agony and Merlin found himself desperately wishing for the fog to return.

"I'm sorry," Arthur said, trying to lift his friend as gently as he could. "I'm sorry."

"Arthur," Merlin pleaded. "Please stop—I can't—I can't—please."

"Breathe," Arthur soothed. "Just breathe, Merlin. It will pass. Just keep breathing."

Merlin had to bite down on his fingers to keep himself from screaming when Arthur started walking. His burns rubbed against the coarse fabric of Arthur's tunic and every step was pure agony. He must have whimpered because his friend kept apologizing to him, over and over again. Merlin could feel nausea churning in his gut and it took everything he had not to throw up the measly contents of his stomach all over his friend's back.

He could hear voices inquiring after him. Gwain perhaps…or Gwen…he couldn't be sure. He wanted to answer them, to let them know he was fine, but his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth and the only sound he could manage was a harsh, guttural groan that terrified him.

Finally, Arthur stopped and gently lowered Merlin to rest upon one of the bandit's sleeping mats. Merlin promptly turned over on his side and threw up. It came up bloody and the salty tang of iron was harsh upon his tongue. He sat back panting, sweat dripping down his face and into his eyes. He was silent for a long moment as he fought to get the agony in his legs back under his control. For a brief moment he hated Arthur intensely for the pain he had caused, but as the burning faded so did his irrational anger.

"Merlin," Arthur whispered. "Are you alright?"

"You keep asking me that," Merlin replied, swallowing past the lump in his throat. "I would think my answer would be fairly obvious, sire."

"I'll keep that in mind for next time then," Arthur said.

The young prince knelt beside him and took Merlin's torn tunic in his hands, pulling it away from the warlock's arrow wound. Arthur grimaced as he inspected the injury with calm, efficient hands. Merlin watched him work trying not to wince or cry out as Arthur's fingers grazed his sensitive flesh. The prince paled slightly and his hands shook, but he was careful to hide his concern and worry from Merlin. His attempts were in vain, however, because Merlin could see it anyway.

"You would think you'd be used to this," Merlin whispered absently. "Aren't blood, sweat and tears all part of the glorious hero package?"

"I _am_ used to this," Arthur said softly. "Just…just not on you."

"What makes me different? Just because it's me doesn't mean it changes anything."

"It changes _everything_," Arthur said softly glancing up at his friend. "You aren't a knight, Merlin. You never signed up for the glorious hero package as you call it. This never should have happened."

"You're right. I'm not a knight. But…you are wrong on one thing."

"What's that?"

"I _did_ sign up for this," Merlin whispered. "In my own way. I knew the risks involved, Arthur. You have nothing to blame yourself for, you know."

Arthur stared up at him, but for what felt like the hundredth time that day Merlin could not discern his expression. Silence stretched between them for a long moment. Neither man knew what to say to the other and Merlin began to wonder if he'd made a mistake in telling Arthur his secret.

"Arthur," Merlin said hesitantly. "About what I told you earlier…I want you to know that I—"

"We need to clean your wound," Arthur said suddenly, eyes panicked as he hurriedly stood.

"Arthur," Merlin whispered as he tried to hide how hurt he was. "Please, would you just—"

"I'm going to find Amara," Arthur informed him. "Maybe she'll have something we can give you for the pain. I'll be back in a moment."

"Listen to me," Merlin finished lamely as his friend walked away.

When Arthur returned it was with Amara in tow and Merlin knew that any chance to talk to his sire alone had vanished. He sighed in frustration. He didn't understand…Arthur had been open to the idea, hadn't he? He'd admitted to already suspecting that Merlin was involved with magic so it shouldn't have come as a huge surprise. Why was the prince acting this way? Didn't Arthur understand that Merlin would find no rest, no comfort, until they had spoken?

As time flew on it became obvious that the prince did _not_ understand. Amara had quickly and efficiently cleaned his wound, rubbed the same soothing mixture of herbs into his burns, and forced the ghastly tasting, but heavenly feeling potion down his throat. There had been few words between them, but Merlin wasn't horribly surprised by this. He could appreciate how awkward the situation was between Arthur and the Druid girl. All the prince could do was watch Amara as she worked and do as she instructed because neither one of them wanted to say much of anything to the other. After all, what does one say to the man who killed their family? And, vice versa, what does the man who did the killing say to the survivor? Sorry?

Merlin snorted at the thought and both Amara and Arthur looked up at him worriedly. He waved them away weakly with his good hand, but it didn't stop Arthur from pressing his fingers against his forehead. The prince frowned and the tension in his shoulders grew more pronounced.

"His fever is getting worse," Arthur said to Amara. "Is there something you could do?"

"I'm fine," Merlin argued, glaring up at Arthur. "Stop fussing."

"I didn't ask you," Arthur told him gently. "You'll say your fine all the way to your grave. Now hush." Arthur looked back to the Druid girl, worry clear in his eyes. "Amara?"

"There are a few herbs we can try to use to lessen it," Amara replied, pressing her hand against Merlin's forehead as well so she could feel what Arthur had. "Cool compresses should work for a bit, but…" She shrugged and looked at Arthur sadly.

"But what?" Arthur demanded.

"Arthur," Amara replied. "The sickness ailing him isn't something you can fix with a few herbs and bed rest. It's far more complicated than that. Herbs will help for a little while, but after that there won't be anything I can do for him."

"Merlin said the same thing," Arthur replied tonelessly. "I had hoped…maybe…" He shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. "Amara, what am I supposed to do?"

"I may know of something," Amara said softly. "But…it would be dangerous, Arthur. For you and for him."

"What is it?" Arthur demanded immediately. "I'll do whatever it takes to help him, Amara."

Amara hesitated for a moment. Merlin could see, even in his drug induced dream world, how much this interaction was costing her. He squeezed her hand encouragingly and hoped she wouldn't find his sweaty palms too disgusting. Of course, considering her hands were stained with his blood he felt reasonably sure that sweaty palms were the last things she was concerned about.

"Merlin's illness is magical," Amara finally said. "It would take considerable magic to heal him. Old magic…pure. There are only two people I know of that have the power needed." She glanced down at Merlin and squeezed his hand.

"Who?" Arthur asked.

"One of them will be of little use to you," Amara said slowly.

She didn't know that Arthur knew about his magic, but Merlin was glad she hadn't disclosed anything. Explaining to Arthur that he had magic would be hard enough, but to try and explain that he _was_ magic would be nearly impossible. At least until Merlin was given the chance to really talk to him.

"And the other?"

"The other is a priestess of the Old Religion," Amara sighed. "One of the last."

"That's impossible," Arthur said immediately. "The Old Religion and its followers were wiped out ages ago. My father—"

Merlin snorted again and Arthur looked down at him incredulously.

"What are you laughing at?" Arthur asked him.

"You," Merlin said dreamily. "Arthur, just because you're father attempts to destroy something it doesn't mean he is always successful. You should have learned that by now. After all, how many followers of the Old Religion have tried to kill you over the years?"

"But the priestesses were different," Arthur argued. "My father made sure that he killed them all."

"Well," Amara said stonily. "He obviously missed one and you should be thankful he did. Otherwise, Merlin wouldn't stand a chance."

"So we find her then," Arthur replied, giving up on his argument. "And then what? Command her to heal him?"

"You won't command her to do anything," Amara said dangerously. "She'll kill you for your efforts, Arthur Pendragon."

"Then how do we convince her to help him?" Arthur asked angrily. "You may have all the answers, Amara, but you seem rather keen on keeping them to yourself."

"The Old Religion is balance," Amara replied quietly. "If you wish for her to help you then you will have to do something for her in return."

"Like what?" Arthur asked.

"I don't know," Amara said honestly. "I highly doubt you'll enjoy it though."

"That seems to be a common theme recently," Arthur said blandly. "You said it was dangerous. Why?"

"She hates you," Amara said simply. "That should hardly be surprising considering you and your father killed her kind for sport. If she knows it is you, Arthur Pendragon, she will destroy you." Amara glanced at Arthur and almost looked sorry for him. "Your knights, your heritage, your name and the power that goes with it will be useless to you. If you go to her you go to her as a common man, without any of your shields to protect you."

"Sounds like fun," Arthur murmured.

"Arthur," Merlin slurred. "You can't possibly be thinking of doing this. Think of the consequences if something happened to you. You are the only thing standing in the way of Morgana and her claim to the throne. I won't let you sacrifice all of Camelot to help me, sire."

"You choose the worst times to be brave, Merlin," Arthur said. "You are right, I suppose. If something happens to me Camelot as we know it will cease to exist, but there is something you forgot to consider."

"What?"

"If something happens to you," Arthur said, his voice harsh with emotion. "If you died…Camelot as we know it would still cease to exist." He grimaced at the admission, but then grinned. "After all, who would wash my clothes and polish my armor? I would be a complete mess without you there to pick up after me. Camelot would collapse and you would only have yourself to blame for it."

"Just when I think you're about to say something nice to me," Merlin sighed, smiling weakly at his friend to take the heat out of his words.

"I'm not giving up on you," Arthur told him before he turned back to Amara. "Where can I find this priestess?"

"She lives in a cave far to the east," Amara replied. "In the White mountains."

"That's days away," Arthur blanched. "I'll never make it there and back in time."

"She wouldn't come with you anyways," Amara said. "She never leaves the mountains, Arthur."

"I don't understand," Arthur croaked. "How the hell is she going to heal Merlin if she won't come to him?"

"You'll have to bring Merlin with you," Amara said softly, glancing down at Merlin's burned legs in pity.

"Arthur," Merlin whispered. "I'm not sure I like this idea."

"That's impossible," Arthur said. "He can't travel like this. The stress and pain alone would kill him, Amara."

"I know," Amara said quietly. "But there is nothing else that can be done. Believe me…if I knew of anything else I would tell you, but this is the only way."

"Damn it," Arthur shouted, kicking the dirt angrily.

"What did the dirt ever do to you?" Merlin murmured.

"We have to think of _something_," Arthur said, ignoring his friend. "He can't ride a horse and walking is obviously out of the question. I wouldn't be able to carry him all the way there…but if I pulled him behind me…"

"I think I'd rather stay right here," Merlin said. "I don't fancy being dragged along behind you, Arthur. I am _not_ a sack of potatoes."

" So you've said, Merlin," Arthur sighed. "I wasn't going to drag you along behind me, you idiot. I would _pull_ you. In a wagon or a cart or something."

"Oh," Merlin said dreamily. "That's alright then."

"Could it work?" Arthur asked, staring down at his friend in concern. "It would be rough terrain, but I don't see what other choice we have."

"We would have to layer the cart with a very soft padding," Amara said. "But it would work. We'll have to watch his wounds very carefully though and try to reduce his fever any way we can. Either way the journey is going to be hard on him."

"We?" Arthur inquired.

"Yes," Amara said. "We. I'm going with you."

"But—"

"But what?" Amara demanded. "Who is going to show you the way, Arthur Pendragon? Who is going to sooth Merlin's burns or keep his fever under control? Do you know the herbs to help with swelling? Pain?"

"No," Arthur admitted. "But, if she sees you she'll—"

"She'll what?" Amara snorted. "Recognize you for who you really are?" She shook her head and laughed bitterly. "Believe me, Arthur, you are the _last_ person she would expect to see me with. Only a crazy person would travel beside the man who killed her family. I'm the best disguise you've got."

Merlin looked up at Arthur's face. His jaw strained against his skin as he grit his teeth. He was trying to remain in control of his emotions, but Amara had thrown her words at him without pity and there was nowhere for him to hide.

"Besides," Amara said, gentler than before. "She knows me, Arthur. She sought sanctuary in our village while she ran from the wrath of your father. She and my mother were friends. That connection might make all the difference."

"Fine," Arthur said softly, clearly smarting from the Druid's earlier comment. "We'll let Merlin rest for the night…gain some strength back. We'll prepare the cart and leave in the morning."

Arthur hadn't said another word to him after that other than to order him to try to sleep. He'd wanted to argue, but the potion Amara had given him made it nearly impossible to get a straight thought out. By the time Merlin was able to arrange the words in his head Arthur was already speaking quietly to the knights and Gwen some distance away from him. They were all looking at him in concern and even Gwain's normally cheerful face was solemn.

Merlin watched them talk for a while and finally disperse to go about their individual errands. Arthur ordered each of the knights to take a turn watching him, as if Merlin were a toddler in need of constant surveillance. Leon was first and the knight was unusually talkative. He told Merlin stories of his time as a knight, before Merlin had arrived in Camelot. Leon was trying to keep Merlin's mind off how awful he felt and while his efforts failed, Merlin appreciated the thought all the same. Next was Lancelot and he spent his hour checking and rechecking Merlin's temperature, his kind face creased with worry as he mumbled beneath his breath. Merlin considered telling his friend about what he'd told Arthur, but thought better of it. He didn't want to face the enormity of it all and telling Lancelot would only bring questions he could not answer.

When it was Gwain's turn to watch over him the knight made sure Merlin knew every little thing that Gwain wanted to do to the men that hurt him. Merlin had to admit that his friend was very creative with his death scenarios and they ranged from a rabid, man-eating, attack bear to a one eyed, fire breathing cat demon. When Merlin inquired as to why the feline only had one eye Gwain told him that the other eye had been lost to the rabid, man-eating attack bear. Merlin had laughed and even though it hurt it had felt good to do something normal and happy in his misery.

Day slowly turned into evening and still Arthur had not returned. Merlin wished he could order his friend to talk to him, to listen to what he was going to say, but when he opened his mouth the fever seemed to take hold of his brain and he lost time for awhile. When he'd finally come back to himself Amara had returned to rub her ointment into his burns, redress his wounds, and force another mouthful of potion and Yarrow into his stomach. When she'd left he'd been alone for a moment and he treasured the silence his solitude brought him.

Merlin watched Arthur for a long time from his mat. His friend had moved the bodies of the bandits to the far edge of the camp to await burial. Arthur was a creature of tradition and he wouldn't allow men to lie dead out in the open even if they deserved it.

One of the knights had caught a rabbit and was roasting it on the fire Arthur had started. Merlin could smell it from where he was sitting, but the thought of food made him sick to his stomach. He was sure that he would be forced to eat at some point in time, but for the moment he didn't care much for the thought.

He could see it cooking on the open flame, flesh slowly turning from pink to brown. He wanted to look away, to close his eyes, but the sight enthralled him. He felt himself shaking like a leaf, but still he watched. Was this what his flesh had looked like as it burned? Could the rabbit feel what he had felt? Could it be screaming like he had screamed? Crying out for mercy with no one to hear his pleas? All alone while people laughed, while people watched with gleeful smiles as he slowly—

"Merlin," Arthur said loudly, snapping Merlin out of his terrified haze. "Merlin, are you alright?"

No, Merlin thought desperately. No, I am not alright. He looked at Arthur for a moment, looked back at the rabbit, and promptly threw up again. When he was done he laid his head against the ground, mindless of the puddle of bloody water he'd thrown up near his head. He shivered violently in the night air, but this time he knew it was out of fear instead of fever.

"Here," Arthur said softly. "Let me help you."

He gently lifted Merlin from where he'd collapsed upon the ground and managed to maneuver him into a sitting position with his back against the wide trunk of a tree.

"I threw up again," Merlin rasped. "That only seems to happen when you're around, sire. Must be something about you my stomach doesn't agree with."

"The glory of my presence just overwhelms you is all," Arthur said with a small smile.

"Hmmm," Merlin said, leaning his head against the tree. "The presence of your stench is more likely, sire."

"You seem to enjoy wallowing in it," Arthur replied. Merlin opened an eye and raised his brows at his friend's words. Arthur, realizing what he'd said, colored slightly and rolled his eyes. "Shut-up, Merlin."

"Didn't say a word, sire."

"You were thinking it."

"Thinking what exactly?"

"It."

"Your way with words is legendary," Merlin smiled. "A true literary god."

"I brought you some stew," Arthur said, ignoring the insult and gesturing at a steaming bowl sitting beside him. "I thought it would be good for you to eat something."

Merlin thought about the rabbit on the open flame and he turned green. The gorge rose in his throat and he had to swallow multiple times to not throw up again. He looked at Arthur and shook his head, afraid to open his mouth in case his stomach revolted against him.

"Merlin," Arthur sighed. "You need to eat something. We have a long journey ahead of us and you'll need every ounce of strength you can get."

"I can't," Merlin croaked. "The rabbit, Arthur."

"The rabbit?" Arthur questioned. "What about it?"

"It burned," Merlin whispered, squeezing his eyes shut so he wouldn't have to look at Arthur's face. "I watched it burn, Arthur."

"I see," Arthur said quietly.

When Merlin opened his eyes Arthur was looking at him in a way Merlin had never seen before. There was pity in his eyes. Merlin had never seen Arthur pity him and he realized with a flash of heat in his stomach that he hated it, hated being weak in front of the man he was supposed to protect. Still, no amount of hatred or anger would get him to eat the rabbit or make him forget what it had felt like.

"I used to dream about it," Merlin said softly watching a moth flutter quietly around them. "I would dream about it all the time."

"About what?" Arthur asked, putting his fingers to Merlin's forehead.

"I'm not crazy," Merlin snapped, pulling away from Arthur's searching touch. "And I'm not delirious. You just aren't listening, Arthur. You never listen."

"Okay," Arthur said soothingly. "Okay, Merlin. I'm sorry. What did you dream about?"

"Burning," Merlin said, so calmly that it terrified him.

"What?" Arthur asked harshly, looking up at him in alarm.

"I dream about burning on the stake," Merlin said. "You see what I am…what I can do…and you hate me for it, Arthur. You watch me burn and when I scream your name you just…your eyes are so cold. It's your face, but it's your father's eyes I see staring up at me."

"Merlin," Arthur whispered in horror. "I don't hate you. Surely you know that?"

"Do I?" Merlin asked coldly. "How could I possibly know that? I tell you my secret, the very thing that makes me who I am and you just…you don't even respond, Arthur! Every time I try and talk to you, try to explain, you run away from me as fast as your feet can carry you."

"What am I supposed to say?" Arthur croaked.

"Something," Merlin pleaded. "Anything."

"I don't know what to say to you," Arthur insisted. "You have magic…" He closed his eyes and shook his head. "I expected the answer, Merlin. Even as the words left your mouth I _knew_ what they would be, but it still knocked me flat."

"I understand," Merlin whispered, tears in his eyes. "You don't have to explain anymore, sire. I should have kept my mouth shut and I—"

"No," Arthur said fiercely. "I'm glad you told me, Merlin. Whatever else happens between us know that I am glad you trusted me with your secret."

"But you hate me for it," Merlin rasped. "I'm magic, Arthur. Disgusting, evil—"

"Stop it," Arthur ordered, pressing a cool compress to Merlin's forehead. "This is just the fever talking, Merlin. If I hated you, if I thought you were evil…why would I be trying so hard to _save_ you?"

"So you could kill me," Merlin said. "So you could make one more example of what happens to those who practice magic in your lands. I know what happens…I've watched it more times than I can count."

"And I cannot even begin to imagine how hard that must have been for you," Arthur said softly. "How hard it must have been to serve me knowing that I had a part to play in that."

"You were supposed to be different," Merlin said tonelessly. "The prophecy said you would be different…"

"Prophecy?" Arthur asked, putting another compress against Merlin's fevered skin.

"You were supposed to be the once and future king," Merlin rasped. "The great dragon told me that you—"

"The great dragon?" Arthur barked, looking at his friend in surprise. "You _spoke_ to him?"

"Yes," Merlin murmured. "Quite frequently, in fact."

"About what?"

"You mostly."

"Me?"

"So many people want to kill you, Arthur. I can do magic, but I never studied it. Sometimes he helped me save you…told me what to do…or at least pointed me in the right general direction."

"I don't understand this at all," Arthur said. "You are telling me that the great dragon, the same great dragon that attacked Camelot, helped _save_ me?"

"Kilgarrah had no quarrel with you," Merlin replied. "He was angry. He is the last of his kind, Arthur. Wouldn't you be angry?"

"Kilgarrah," Arthur repeated. "The thing had a name?"

"Of course he has a name," Merlin said testily. "You can't expect him to run around without a name can you?"

"Merlin," Arthur whispered. "You sad he _is_ the last of his kind and he _has _a name."

"So?"

"You are using the present tense, Merlin."

"And?"

"It would suggest that the dragon is living…even though you told me I killed it."

"I told you a lot of things," Merlin replied.

"So I'm discovering," Arthur said blandly.

"According to you," Merlin said. "You already knew I kept secrets from you."

"Yes, but I never expected them to be quite so big."

"Not all of them were," Merlin said thickly. "Some were itty, bitty ones."

"Such as?"

"Well," Merlin replied, thinking for a moment. "I told you I polished your armor by hand, but sometimes I used magic. And…there were a couple of times I used magic on you. Harmless stuff, really."

"You used magic on me?" Arthur blanched.

"Sure," Merlin replied dreamily. "Nothing serious. Sometimes I'd make you fart at the dinner table."

"That's you?" Arthur gasped.

"Not always," Merlin smirked. "Sometimes you manage to let one off all on your own, sire."

"You have a gift like this, a talent, and you waste it on making me pass gas?"

Merlin didn't answer for a long moment. He couldn't because Arthur had called his magic a gift. The prince had never mentioned magic in anything other than a negative connotation, but with Merlin it was a gift…a talent.

"Gaius says the same thing," Merlin finally said.

"Gaius knows?" Arthur said, raising his brows.

"Yes," Merlin replied. "He's known since the beginning."

"Anyone else?"

"Lancelot."

"Lancelot?"

"Yes, sire. Lancelot. You know…strapping and handsome knight that nearly won the heart of your dearest Guinevere."

"How long has he known?" Arthur asked, slightly miffed that Lancelot had _indeed_ known Merlin better than him.

"More or less since I first came to Camelot," Merlin replied sheepishly.

"You told him," Arthur said softly. "But you didn't tell me?"

"I didn't _tell_ him anything," Merlin replied. "He just…found out. On accident. I got lucky that he didn't run off and tell your father."

"Merlin," Arthur said softly. "My father would have killed you had he found out. Why would you stay in Camelot?"

"I told you," Merlin said, swallowing and looking at his friend with glassy eyes. "The prophecy, Arthur. You were going to be the greatest king in the world. You would unite Albion and bring magic and prosperity back to the land."

"You mean…all the times you've told me that I would be a great king it was because you _knew_ it was going to happen?"

"I didn't _know _anything," Merlin sighed. "Fate isn't set in stone, Arthur. A prophecy may come to pass or it may not. That was where I came in. It was my job to protect you from the threats you couldn't stop…couldn't see. You were so blind to the things beyond the moral world, Arthur."

"You were part of the prophecy?" Arthur asked, his brow creasing.

"Yes," Merlin answered. "Albion could only be united if the two halves of the world came together as one. You were the sword, the mortal piece and I—"

"You were the magic," Arthur supplied. "The immortal piece. I was right all along. You aren't mortal."

"Don't be ridiculous," Merlin snapped. "I'm a man…same as you. I bleed, Arthur. And I will die eventually. But…my magic…my essence for lack of a better word will live on forever. That's why the Vervane is affecting me so strongly, Arthur. Magic is a part of me. It flows through my veins as surely as blood flows through yours. I can't live without it."

"Are there others?" Arthur asked, his mouth dry. "Others like you?"

"Two others," Merlin said softly.

"Who?"

"That, sire, is a story for another day…another time."

"Why not tonight?"

"You aren't ready," Merlin told him. "One day you will be, but everything in its time. I think you have enough to worry about."

Arthur nodded and Merlin watched his face closely. He could feel himself fading, falling through the vale of delirium only to claw his way back to lucidity. He didn't have long and he could already feel the Vervane diggings its talons into him again. He had to ask…while he had the chance.

"Arthur," Merlin said quietly. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course," Arthur answered. "Anything."

"Coran showed me something," Merlin whispered. "A letter."

"Yes," Arthur rasped. "I know. He told me."

"Were you going to send it?"

"For a long time I didn't know the answer to that question," Arthur explained. "But…one day…I realized I didn't have to choose between duty and friendship. They were two separate things, you see. You told me once that my title didn't make up who I was and you were right. So I put it away in my drawer and never looked at it again."

"But why?" Merlin croaked. "You hated magic, Arthur. If you knew I was involved in it why wouldn't you turn me in?"

"Because I trusted you," Arthur whispered. "I've always trusted you. Even when I hated you…there was a part of me that recognized you as something more than a servant and I felt…" He grimaced as he looked for the right words. "I felt different around you, Merlin. Better. Like I could be something more than I was."

"What are we going to do?" Merlin asked quietly. "This changes everything, Arthur."

"Maybe that's the way it should be," Arthur told him. "I don't know what the future holds, Merlin. I'm still processing everything you've told me and I have a feeling that it only _begins_ to scratch the surface of the Merlin mystery."

"You are being very calm about all of this," Merlin remarked. "I would have thought you would be angry…"

"Don't lose hope," Arthur laughed. "There is still time."

"Why are you doing this for me?" Merlin asked seriously.

"You would do it for me." Arthur paused and revised his words. "You _did_ do it for me. How many times I'm not sure of yet, but none of this would have happened had I listened to you."

"Don't blame yourself," Merlin whispered, closing his eyes. "Fate works in mysterious ways, Arthur. Maybe this was supposed to happen. Maybe you needed this push to finish becoming the man you're destined to be."

"Perhaps," Arthur said softly, pressing his fingers to Merlin's forehead again. "You're fever hasn't gone down at all. How do you feel?"

"Tired," Merlin replied, keeping his eyes closed. "Arthur, are we okay?"

"Of course we are," Arthur whispered. "You're still an idiot, Merlin. Having magic doesn't change that." He smiled even though Merlin couldn't see it. "If it had been anyone else but you…"

"What are you going to do when we get back to Camelot?" Merlin asked him.

"We'll deal with that when the time comes," Arthur told him. "For now, the only thing you need to worry about is keeping yourself alive."

"I was scared you hated me," Merlin slurred. "You wouldn't speak to me and I thought—"

"No," Arthur said. "I just needed time to think is all. I…I don't know how I feel about magic…or its place within Camelot…but I know that you are my friend and nothing is going to change that.

"

"Thank you," Merlin whispered.

He finally fell into a fevered sleep, but Arthur remained at his side. The prince was terrified of what Merlin's admission could mean, terrified of the world his friend represented, but he would never tell that to the man. Merlin was already weak and his hold on reality so tenuous that Arthur was afraid the wrong word would bring him crashing down like so much glass. Arthur hadn't been lying when he'd told Merlin that he trusted him and he would just have to keep faith that Merlin knew what he was doing because Arthur sure as hell didn't and that had never bode well for anybody.


	13. Gypsies, Tramps and Thieves

**Author's Note: **_Hello everyone! I am deeply sorry for the long, long delay. It was not my intention to neglect this story, but I have been involved with other aspects of life that took precedence over writing…as much as I hate to admit it. However, I am back and am going to try to make regular appearances. There is one thing you all can do to help my motivation…REVIEW! Feedback, either good or bad, gives me the motivation and the desire to continue writing so please help a lady out! Anyways, I hope you enjoy!_

"You're doing it wrong," Amara snapped, plucking the delicate weed from the clutches of Arthur's grasping fingers.

"I didn't know there was an incorrect way to pick a weed," Arthur said sulkily.

"Well, there is. And you're doing it. You have to be gentle, Arthur. I need the leaves intact in order to use them." She stared down at the torn weed between her fingers pointedly. "Not mangled. Do you think you're warrior hands can handle that?"

Arthur scowled at her, but didn't rise to her insult. Instead, he turned back to his work, crawling around like a hog searching for truffles. Amara watched him for a moment, still puzzled as to why he'd volunteered to accompany her in her search for weeds that could help Merlin. It wasn't as if she and the prince would have much to say to one another, but perhaps that was what he was hoping for. A little peace and quiet could go a long way when you needed to think.

Of course, it might have been easier to think if Arthur had actually known what he was doing. It became incredibly clear within the first three minutes of their search that the prince did not share Amara's aptitude for herbology. She had been forced to patiently point out each individual weed they were looking for, but Arthur's pile of plants had become to home to just about anything he could find that even vaguely looked plant-like. Amara would have laughed if it hadn't been for the confused and almost overwhelmed expression on Arthur's face.

She could tell the prince was worried about Merlin. It was clear to her that Arthur cared a great deal for the man, but she couldn't help wondering if he would to continue to fuss over his servant if he knew about who he really was, about his magic. It was not a secret she felt inclined to share, but the truth would come out eventually. The young warlock was wasting away in front of them and it was only a matter of time before Merlin said or did something in his delirium that gave himself away.

"Aha!" Arthur crowed from somewhere behind her. "I've found it! Amara, come look at this! I think I found something!"

Amara sighed and trudged over to see what the young prince was proudly holding in his bare hands. The plant he held was a vibrant green with three leaves on the stem. The leaves were oblong shaped and had slightly jagged edges. Definitely not what she needed. She stared at his palm for a long moment and tried to control her expression.

"Arthur," she said evenly, trying not to smile. "You've certainly found something."

"What is it?" Arthur asked. "Can you use it?"

"Not exactly. In fact, you should probably put it down."

"Why?" Arthur questioned. "You said I found something."

"Arthur," Amara sighed. "What you found was poison ivy."

The look on Arthur's face was not something Amara was likely to ever forget. He threw down the plant in disgust and tried to hurriedly wipe his hands upon his trousers. Amara could have told him that attempting to wipe off the plant oils would only make it worse, but the vindictive and vengeful side of her got the better of her and she kept her mouth shut. A little rash wouldn't hurt him. Besides, he might not even react to it. Not everyone did. Ryker could roll around naked in a bed of it and not have a single blister the next day.

Then she thought about Merlin and any notion of vengeance quickly drained away. The man was suffering and it would do him little good if Arthur wasn't able to do what he needed to do to keep Merlin breathing. It seemed harmless enough, but poison ivy blisters could be painful and the itchy rash was nearly unbearable. Arthur would be distracted and that could get them all killed.

"Here," she whispered, grabbing hold of Arthur's wrist and leading him to the banks of a nearby stream. "Wash your hands in the water then cover them with silt. That should get the oils off."

"I'm completely useless," Arthur lamented as he did as he was told. "I should have recognized that plant for what it was."

"You have a lot on your mind," Amara replied simply.

"I'm slowing you down," Arthur said with a shake of his head. "I should have stayed with Merlin at camp and let you do this on your own. You probably would have been finished by now."

"Probably," Amara agreed.

Arthur looked at her and scowled, but she could see the hopelessness in his expression. He looked vulnerable in that moment and Amara's heart softened. The young man was trying to become someone other than his father, trying to keep the cold hatred of the unknown world out of his life. Amara doubted she would ever like Arthur and she knew she would never trust him, but he was trying and that was more than she had ever expected him to do.

"Why are you doing this?" she asked softly. "Why go through all this trouble for one man?"

"He's my friend," Arthur said immediately. "Besides, its my fault he's in this mess. I owe him."

"He's your servant," Amara said pointedly.

"So?"

"So, I thought it was against the rules for a prince to be friends with his servant."

"The rules are wrong," Arthur whispered. "And the worst part is…I think I've known that for a long time. I was just…too afraid to do anything about it."

"Afraid of what?"

"Failing," Arthur answered, closing his eyes so he wouldn't have to look at her. "My whole life I've been destined to rule…you would think I would be used to the idea by now, but nothing terrifies me more than being king, Amara. Nothing. Rules are easy…they make a chaotic world simple to deal with. What kind of king would I be if I broke those rules? If I turned a simple world into chaos?"

"Sometimes you have to break something to make it better," Amara told him gently. "My mother used to tell me that. Some of the most beautiful things in this world come from chaos. The greatest forests rise from the ashes of a fire. Camelot can be that great forest…but you have to light the fire first."

"You sound like Merlin," Arthur whispered sadly.

"He believes in you," Amara told him.

"I know he does," Arthur said. "And that makes it all harder."

"What do you mean?"

"Merlin has put everything on hold for me," Arthur explained. "He's been forced to become something he's not because I needed him to be that way. And now he needs me in return and I'm terrified I'm going to fail him…that he's going to die and there is nothing I can do to stop it. I don't know his world, Amara. You give me an army and I can march, give me a sword and I can fight, but this? Magic? I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing."

"He told you?" Amara asked, trying to hide the surprise from her voice.

"Yeah," Arthur said gruffly. "Earlier in the tent."

"And?"

"And what?"

"Are you angry? Upset?"

"I don't know what I am."

"Arthur, you can't tell me that your best friend suddenly tells you he has magic and you have absolutely no reaction."

"I don't know," Arthur snapped. "I think I've told you how far out of my depths I am here, Amara. Merlin has magic…what the hell am I supposed to do with that information? I asked him, I know I asked him and I'm glad he told me, but…" He shook his head.

"I should kill him," Arthur whispered, his face twisting with revulsion at the thought. "That's what my father would do…what he trained _me_ to do. My whole life I've been taught to hate something that I've never really understood. Magic is evil, right? It's dark and vile and unpredictable and those who use it are equally so."

"But how can that be true?" Arthur continued, looking at Amara desperately. "Merlin _is_ magic and he's none of those things. He's a good man…perhaps one of the best I've ever known. So, what does that say about me? About my father? His obsession and hatred is consuming him, but I've always known that. I came to peace with the fact that my father's revenge came first and I came second a long time ago. But, I followed him blindly, Amara. What kind of fool am I that I didn't once question my father's actions? He used me to kill innocent people in his quest for vengeance and I allowed him to do it."

"You won't get any argument from me," Amara said, colder than she'd meant to.

Arthur stared at her, mouth set in a thin, hard line. She could see the guilt in his eyes, the horror at what he'd done so many years previously etched upon his face and her own sorrow threatened to overwhelm her for a moment. She quickly shook it away. There was no way in hell Amara was going to let Arthur Pendragon see her tears.

"Amara," Arthur began softly. "I—"

"Don't," Amara said harshly. "Don't you dare say a word to me about it."

"I never meant to hurt anyone," Arthur said desperately. "I lost control, Amara. I didn't want to kill anyone."

"Actions speak louder than words," Amara said coldly.

"Amara," Arthur pleaded. "Please try to understand, I—"

"Understand?" Amara hissed. "There is nothing to understand, Arthur! You murdered my family, my friends. There is nothing you could say that could possibly make me understand that."

"It wasn't supposed to happen that way," Arthur said. "I didn't set out upon my mission to kill people. I was supposed to push you away from Camelot's borders, but something went wrong. I don't know how it happened, but it did and I'm sorry. I know it doesn't matter, but I never even drew my sword, Amara. I swear."

"What?" Amara snapped, stunned at the words that had tumbled from his mouth.

"They disobeyed my orders," Arthur whispered. "They were men loyal to my father. I tried to stop it, but I froze. I was young and inexperienced. They didn't listen to me…nothing I did…nothing I said stopped them. I still hear the screams and there isn't a day that goes by that I don't think about what happened that day. I hated myself for it. That man…the one who brought death upon your people…he isn't me, Amara. Maybe I was once, but not anymore. Please believe me."

Amara felt her anger melt away. She believed him. She remembered the look on his face the day her world was destroyed. He'd been lost and frightened and when he'd met her eyes he had not killed her, had not said a word, had not done anything but look away from her in guilt and shame.

"I do," Amara said, her voice softening. "You're a different man then I'd thought you'd be. A better man." She frowned and looked away from him. "But you can't change the past no matter how badly you want to. I know that better than anyone. You will always be my nightmare, Arthur Pendragon."

"I'm sorry," Arthur whispered brokenly. "Amara, I'm so sorry."

"I know," Amara said gently. "I can never be friends with you, Arthur, but it isn't too late for you to change the future for others. You can stop your father's madness, don't you see? Don't you realize how much power you have? You and Merlin can change _everything_!"

"Not me," Arthur said slowly. "Merlin, maybe, but not me."

"Arthur," Amara huffed. "You really are an idiot."

"Gee…thanks."

"You and Merlin are tied together in ways you can't even begin to imagine," Amara said. "The future you two could create if you only tried, Arthur. You _have _to try!"

"There so many things I don't understand," Arthur told her. "So much he has lied to me about."

"Do you blame him?" Amara asked softly.

"No," Arthur replied carefully. "I just wish things could be different."

"Then _make_ it different," Amara said. "Talk to him, Arthur. He wants to share his world with you. You just have to ask."

"I can't," Arthur said. "I don't want him to know I'm afraid."

"There's that word again," Amara said softly. "Afraid. What on earth do you have to be so afraid about? The man has seen you at your worst. Do you really think he'd care if you were scared?"

"I think he'd care if he knew I was scared of _him_," Arthur replied harshly.

"Your scared of him?" Amara asked, shocked. "Of Merlin?"

"He has magic, Amara."

"Yes," Amara said bitterly. "And here I thought we were passed that."

"No, you don't understand. _Merlin_ has magic, Amara. Merlin. My Merlin. The Merlin that has been by my side for years, the Merlin that I thought I knew. And, supposedly, he's powerful…really powerful. That isn't a word I would have ever connected with him. Clumsy, definitely. Self-sacrificing? Sure. But powerful? I mean, how powerful is powerful? Is there a scale from one to ten?"

"No," Amara said, laughing slightly. "No scale."

"How powerful is he?" Arthur asked again, face shrouded with a mixture of awe and fear. "Be honest with me, Amara."

"There are those that believe that he is the most powerful warlock that will ever live," Amara whispered.

Arthur's eyes widened and he sat back on his haunches in disbelief. Amara watched him take it all in for a moment and she felt the tiniest bit of pity in her heart. How hard this must be for him, she thought. His whole world was changing in a single evening.

"You see?" Arthur finally whispered. "I don't know him at all. How could I have called myself his friend and not known about this?"

"He hid it from you," Amara said simply.

"He shouldn't have had to," Arthur told her bitterly. "All this time he's lived in fear of what I might do if I found out. He told me that he dreamed of me burning him alive, Amara." He looked away from her, pale and grim faced in the moonlight. "How could he think that of me? Am I really that terrifying?"

"No," Amara said slowly. "But…your father is, and sometimes you can see shadows of him in your eyes. You could easily become him, Arthur…if you let yourself."

"I don't want to be him," Arthur said.

"That's a start then," Amara smiled.

"Have you told Merlin any of what you told me?" Amara asked, sitting back on the river bank.

"No," Arthur said. "We talked a little. Dragons and the prophecy. Nothing in depth."

"Dragons?" Amara inquired, eyebrows raised.

"Supposedly Merlin has a dragon friend," Arthur explained. "Killigaga or something like that."

"Killigaga?"

"Yeah," Arthur told her, lips pursed. "It doesn't sound very dragon like to me either."

"I think you might need to fact check on that one, Arthur."

"Perhaps."

"Why haven't you talked to him about how you feel?"

"I can't say anything to him," Arthur whispered. "You saw him, Amara. He was out of his mind with fever. He wouldn't understand and I think…I think it would only hurt him in the end. I couldn't do that."

"You care for him a great deal," Amara said. It wasn't a question.

"Yes," Arthur replied. "He's been there for me when I needed a friend. He was the first person to see me as something other than a prince…" He closed his eyes and tried to keep his emotions in check. "I can't lose him. This _has_ to work, Amara. He means too much to me, to my future…to Camelot's future. Magic or no magic, I can't rule Camelot without him by my side."

"We'll save him," Amara told him even though she wasn't entirely sure. There were so many things that could go wrong, so many elements to Merlin's illness that neither of them understood.

"I truly hope so."

"Arthur," Amara asked quietly. "Once we save him…what are you going to do? Your father is still king. If he ever found out about Merlin—"

"I don't even want to think about that," Arthur said sharply. "We have enough to deal with at the moment."

"The problem isn't going to go away," Amara told him. "You can't change what Merlin is."

"I know that," Arthur told her sulkily.

"So," Amara insisted. "What are you going to do about it?"

"I don't know," Arthur snapped. "Why can't you understand that? Why do I have to have all the answers right this second, Amara? There is still so much I don't understand, so many questions that have yet to be answered. Merlin is the only person who can answer them and he's dying because of me."

"It wasn't your fault," Amara disagreed. "You didn't send Coran after him."

"No," Arthur whispered. "But I might as well have."

"Arthur," Amara began.

"I forgot his birthday," Arthur said suddenly, face flushed with guilt. "What kind of friend does that? It's not like it changes. It falls on the same day, year after year after year, but I somehow manage to forget. He expects so little of me, Amara. Why can't I be as good a friend to him as he is to me?"

"Arthur," Amara said again.

"Then I take him hunting," Arthur continued, ignoring her. "_Hunting, _Amara. Merlin hates hunting. I knew that after the first few days I knew him, but still I took him. No, that isn't right. I _forced_ him to go. He begged me not to come to the Valley of the Fallen Kings, but I ignored him. I betrayed him over some foolish hope that I could bring my family back together again. And now he's dying…because of me…because I wouldn't listen to him. I put my faith in all the wrong people. He's the one person I _know_ I can trust, but I never do. I put my faith in the father that manipulates me and the sister that hates me."

"Morgana?" Amara asked quietly.

"You met her?" Arthur inquired darkly.

"Once."

"And?"

"She scared me," Amara said honestly. "She's powerful."

"Powerful," Arthur mumbled. "I never even suspected she had magic…let alone that she was powerful. She fooled me…fooled all of us…except for Merlin, I think."

"What makes you say that?"

"He was different around her after she came back," Arthur said. "There was a tension between them that I couldn't explain. He was cautious about what he said in front of her, how he acted. He didn't like me being alone with her and when she finally made her move against us he was the only one who wasn't surprised."

"You've been in denial for a very long time, haven't you?" Amara said sadly.

"What the hell does that mean?" Arthur snapped.

"All these signs staring you right in the face," Amara replied. "You recognized them for what they were. I can tell you did, but you didn't want to think about what it would mean for you."

"It's not that," Arthur said softly. "Or…maybe part of it is. Most of what has happened since Merlin arrived hasn't made much sense until now. I've always wondered, but I didn't think he could be a part of it. Hoped, I suppose. I _hoped_ he wasn't a part of it. Everything else…Morgana…the dragon…I had no idea."

"You'll learn," Amara told him. "Merlin knows magic because he senses it, it calls to him. It is as natural as breathing to him. People like you and I have to learn to recognize the signs, Arthur. Talking with him will help you do that. Let him explain things to you, tell you what he knows."

"I'm not sure I want to know what he does," Arthur whispered. "There are powers I don't want to understand. They've changed him over the years. I don't want them to change me, Amara. There is enough darkness in me already."

"Changed him?" Amara asked hesitantly, ignoring Arthur's darkness comment for the moment.

"When I first met Merlin he was an intolerable optimist," Arthur answered, smiling slightly. "He trusted in the goodness of his fellow men to a degree that bordered the naïve. He's still an optimist, Amara, but he's not an intolerable one. And his trust? He's far more cautious about who he puts his faith into these days. He is not a man who loses heart easily so whatever happened to him, whatever changed him…it had to have been bad."

"Ask him," Amara told him.

"Why do you keep saying that?" Arthur snapped.

"The only way you are ever going to get to know Merlin, the real Merlin, is if you talk to him," Amara said in exasperation.

"I don't talk," Arthur replied sullenly. "Not about this sort of thing…I wouldn't know what to say."

"You sure about that?" Amara said, rolling her eyes. "You've laid it all out for me without any problems."

"You hate me," Arthur said simply.

"How does that work?"

"Merlin has faith in me, Amara. I'd only mess everything up if I talked with him about this stuff. How do I talk to him about my doubts, my fears without offending him?"

"Arthur, up until this moment you hated magic. You made that extremely clear to Merlin on numerous occasions. Don't you think you've probably already hurt him? Yet…he still remains at your side, you idiot. Merlin. Isn't. Going. Anywhere."

"All right," Arthur sighed. "I'll talk to him."

"Good," Amara said curtly.

"I just can't do it until he's better," Arthur said, grimacing.

"Arthur—"

"I know, I know," Arthur pouted. "You think I'm chickening out, but I'm not. I just don't want to put more on his plate than he can handle. Besides, I don't like seeing him this way, Amara. It makes me sick thinking about the pain he's in. I can't do anything to help him."

Amara wasn't sure what she was going to do with this man. All these years she had believed Arthur Pendragon to be arrogant, incapable of humility, but their conversation tonight had proved just the opposite. There was so much self-doubt in his eyes. He had no idea of the potential that lay within him.

"My mother was a healer," Amara told him softly. "She taught me everything I know. Before the Purge people would come from miles around just to have a moment with her."

"She had magic?" Arthur questioned.

"Some," Amara replied with a sad smile. "But her true power was her spirit. She could comfort those around her in a way that I have never seen before. All she had to do was whisper in their ear and they calmed. She talked to her people, Arthur. She offered them comfort…and you can do the same with Merlin. You just have to try, to accept him."

"I do accept him," Arthur said.

"Then tell him."

"He knows I accept him."

"Does he?"

"Well," Arthur said uncertainly. "I think he does. I mean…we talked a little about it. I told him he was my friend…that I trusted him."

"Trust and acceptance are two different things," Amara said gently. "You can trust a man, love a man even, but that is only _who_ he is. You have to accept _what_ he is, Arthur, because with Merlin who and what are the same thing."

"Why does life have to be so complicated?" Arthur groaned. "Once, just _once_, I would like to have a simple excursion where nobody is trying to kill us. No complications. Is that too much to ask for?"

"You're a snooty prince," Amara said haughtily. "Assassination attempts are in the job description."

"I'm not snooty," Arthur frowned.

"Yes, you are. Snootylicious….that's you."

"Gods grant me patience," Arthur said, closing his eyes in exasperation. "Between you and Merlin my dignity is bound to meet an untimely end upon this venture."

"I wasn't aware you had a shred of dignity left, my lord."

Arthur smiled at her and, much to her surprise, Amara found herself smiling back.

"Amara," Arthur said, suddenly serious. "You asked me why I was doing this for him and I told you, but why are you? You don't even know him and you're willing to risk your life for him. Why?"

"Hope," Amara whispered. "You have no idea what Merlin means to us, Arthur. To those of us who choose magic he is our savior. I would die for him. We all would die for him."

"How could I miss this?" Arthur whispered. "You all see a side to him that I only catch glimpses of."

"You were afraid to look, Arthur. There is nothing wrong with fear if you take ownership of it."

"I'm afraid of him," he said again, horror on his face. "How could I be afraid of him? Of Merlin?"

"You aren't afraid of Merlin," Amara disagreed. "You are afraid of what you do not know, what you do not understand. You can never forget your fears, Arthur, but you can learn to live with them, to understand them. Merlin taught me that. Besides, did you ever stop to consider that maybe Merlin is just as terrified as you?"

"Talk to him," Arthur said quietly. "I'll talk to him, Amara."

"Good," Amara said again. "Your interest in his world will help him with his pain, Arthur. He'll fight because you want him to."

Arthur was silent for a moment, squelching his fingers in and out of the silt at the edges of the river bank. He turned to look at her and Amara's heart froze in her chest. He was going to say something to her, something Amara was not sure she wanted to hear him say, but before he could the knight Lancelot came crashing through the trees, carrying an unconscious Merlin over one shoulder.

"What the hell are you doing?" Arthur snarled, leaping to his feet. "You can't just move him like—"

"Morgana," Lancelot said harshly, trying to catch his breath.

"What?" Arthur gasped.

"She just showed up out of nowhere," Lancelot said. "I was watching Merlin when she came. There was nothing we could do, sire. We ran."

"Guinevere?" Arthur barked, worry nearly overwhelming him. "The knights?"

"Safe," Lancelot breathed. "As far as I know, sire. We all split in different directions. I couldn't leave Merlin there so I picked him up. Thankfully he was already unconscious."

"How did she find us here?" Arthur spat. "How could she have possibly known?"

"Coran," Amara said quietly. "I told you I met her once, Arthur. She and Coran were working together. He must have sent her word of your capture."

"Or maybe you led her straight to us," Arthur spat, whirling on her.

"No," she said, stepping back from him. "I wouldn't do that. Not to Merlin."

"I know," Arthur sighed, running a muddy hand through his hair. "I just…sorry."

"We can't stay here," Amara said, nodding to acknowledge the prince's apology. "She'll find us if we do."

"Where are we supposed to go?" Arthur questioned. "All of our gear, Merlin's medicine…they're back at camp, Amara. We can't leave without it."

"We'll have to," Amara said.

"No," Arthur argued. "There has to be something we can do. We can fight her or—"

"Don't be stupid," Amara snapped. "The only person powerful enough to face Morgana and win is currently slung over your knight's shoulder. You go up against her and you'll die."

"I've done it before," Arthur hissed.

"No," Lancelot said softly. "You didn't."

"Excuse me?" Arthur whispered dangerously, turning on his knight.

"Merlin went up against Morgana, Arthur. I promised I wouldn't tell you, but considering the circumstances you should know that he has—"

"Magic," Arthur grunted. "I know."

"He told you?" Lancelot gasped.

"Everyone seems so surprised," Arthur said, rolling his eyes.

"It was Merlin that stopped Morgana all those months ago, Arthur," Lancelot insisted, looking at Arthur as if waiting for him to sweep his sword at Merlin's face. "He stopped Camelot from crumbling…again…"

"Fine," Arthur snapped, giving himself a mental reminder to ask Merlin about that particular adventure later. "What are we supposed to do? We can't carry him."

"I know a place we can take him," Amara said. "A place we'll be safe. We can restock our supplies there."

"Where?" Arthur asked shrewdly.

"A bandit camp," Amara said softly.

"Are you joking?" Arthur hissed. "They'll kill us, Amara!"

"As surprising as it may be to you not everyone wants your head on a plate," Amara snapped at him. "Ryker knows these men. I know these men. They aren't murderers, Arthur."

"No," Arthur said stubbornly. "Just thieves."

"Beggars can't be choosers," Amara shot back at him.

"How can you guarantee that they won't kill us?"

"You have to _trust_ me, Arthur."

"They'll know it's me."

"Doubtful," Amara said. "Not unless you tell them. They have no interest in who wears the crown. You'll be safe unless you run your big mouth. You need to remember, Arthur. You aren't you anymore. You aren't a prince or a knight. You are just a man…struggling to survive like everyone else."

"I can't just leave Gwen," Arthur said, voice agonized. "My knights…"

" You aren't the only one missing someone. Ryker is out there to. They'll be fine," Amara told him. "Morgana has no interest in them. She wants you and the longer we wait around here the more likely her chances are of her finding you. Besides, Ryker will take care of them. He'll know where to meet us. They've been our safe house before."

"But—"

"Merlin is going to die," Amara said without remorse. "Sometimes you have to make sacrifices, Arthur. Put down your vendetta against your sister and help your friend."

Arthur stared at her then looked at Merlin hanging limply from Lancelot's shoulder. His jaw set in a hard line and determination filled his eyes. At first, Amara thought he was going to defy her, but when he turned back to her she was surprised to see trust in his piercing gaze.

"What do we do about Merlin?" Arthur asked. "We can't carry him for long and I don't want to hurt him more than we have to."

"We aren't far from them," Amara said, looking with pity at Merlin. "Pray to the gods that he remains unconscious."

"Bandits aren't exactly known for being stationary," Lancelot said. "How do we know where they'll be?"

"They never move," Amara said with a sly smile.

"Never?" Arthur snorted. "They must have a pretty damn good hiding place."

"They do," Amara said sweetly. "The only way you'd ever find it is if you knew what you were looking for."

"Fine," Arthur said dangerously. "Lead the way, Amara. We've got a warlock to save."


End file.
